ESSAYS. 


'  E  S  S  A  Y  S: 


BY 


R.W.EMERSON 


FIRST    SERIES. 


NEW     EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES   MUNROE  AND   COMPANY 

1847. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1847,  by 

JAMBS  MUNROB  AND  COMPANY, 
the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CV  M  BRIDGE: 

.  tfv  M-.EV;AI.F  'AND  COMPANY, 

PRINTERS    TO    THE    UNIVERSITY. 


IM 


CONTENTS 


HISTORY  v 


ESSAY  I. 


PAGK 

1  / 


ESSAY  II. 


ESSAY   III. 


37  • 


.         81 


ESSAY  IV 


SPIRITUAL   LAWS       . 


.       115  l/ 


.151 


FRIENDSHIP 
X 


ESSAY   VI. 


.        173 


V) 


CONTENTS. 


PRUbENCE 


ESSAY  VII. 


ESSAY  VIII 


ESSAY  IX. 
V  THE  OVER-SOT;: 


CIRCLES 


ESSAY  XI. 
INTELLECT 


199 


221 


271 


293 


ART 


ESSAY  XII. 


HI  STORY. 


There  is  no  great  and  no  small 
To  the  Soul  that  maketh  all : 
And  where  it  cometh,  all  things  are  ; 
And  it  cometh  everywhere. 


I  am  owner  of  the  sphere, 

Of  the  seven  stars  and  the  solar  year, 

Of  Caesar's  hand,  and  Plato's  brain, 

Of  Lord  Christ's  heart,  and  Shakspeare's  strain. 


ESSAY  I. 
HISTORY. 


THERE  is  one  mind  common  to  all  individual  men. 
Every  man  is  an  inlet  to  the  same  and  to  all  of  the 
same.  He  that  is  once  admitted  to  the  right  of  reason 
is  made  a  freeman  of  the  whole  estate.  What  Plato 
has  thought,  he  may  think  ;  what  a  saint  has  felt,  he 
may  feel  ;  what  at  any  time  has  befallen  any  man, 
he  can  understand.  Who  hath  access  to  this  univer 
sal  mind  is  a  party  to  all  that  is  or  can  be  done,  for 
this  is  the  only  and  sovereign  agent. 

Of  the  works  of  this  mind  history  is  the  record. 
Its  genius  is  illustrated  by  the  entire  series  of  days. 
(Man  is  explicable  by  nothing  less  than  all  his  historyT) 
Without  hurry,  without  rest,  the  human  spirit  goes 
forth  from  the  beginning  to  embody  every  faculty, 
every  thought,  every  emotion,  which  belongs  to  it  in 
appropriate  events.  But  the  thought  is  always  prior 
to  the  fact  ;  all  the  facts  of  history  preexist  in  the 
mind  as  laws.  Each  law  in  turn  is  made  by  circum- 


4  ESSAY   I. 

stances  predominant,  and   the  limits  of  nature  give 
power  to  but  one  at  a  time.     A  man  is  the  whole 

j  encyclopaedia  of  facts.  The  creation  of  a  thousand 
forests  is  in  one  acorn,  and  Egypt,  Greece,  Rome, 
Gaul,  Britain,  America,  lie  folded  already  in  the 
first  man.  Epoch  after  epoch,  camp,  kingdom,  em 
pire,  republic,  democracy,  are  merely  the  applica- 

of  his  manifold  spirit  to  the  manifold  world. 
This  human  mind  wrote  history,  and  this  must 
read  it.  The  Sphinx  must  solve  her  own  riddle. 
If  the  whole  of  history  is  in  one  man,  it  is  all  to  be 
explained  from  individual  experience.  There  is  a 
relation  between  the  hours  of  our  life  and  the  cen 
turies  of  time.  As  the  air  I  breathe  is  drawn  from 
the  great  repositories  of  nature,  as  the  light  on  my 
book  is  yielded  by  a  star  a  hundred  millions  of  miles 
distant,  as  the  poise  of  my  body  depends  on  the 
equilibrium  of  centrifugal  and  centripetal  forces,  so 
the  hours  should  be  instructed  by  the  ages,  and  the 
ages  explained  by  the  hours.  Of  the  universal  mind 

'  each  individual  man  is  one  more  incarnation.  All 
its  properties  consist  in  him.  Each  new  fact  in  his 
private  experience  flashes  a  light  on  what  great 
bodies  of  men  have  done,  and  the  crises  of  his  life 
refer  to  national  crises.  Every  revolution  was  first 
a  thought  in  one  man's  mind,  and  when  the  same 
thought  occurs  to  another  man,  it  is  the  key  to  that 
era.  Every  reform  was  once  a  private  opinion,  and 


;  HISTORY!)  5 

when  it  shall  be  a  private  opinion  again,  it  will  solve 
the  problem  of  the  age.  The  fact  narrated  must 
correspond  to  something  in  me  to  be  credible  or  in 
telligible.  We  as  we  read  must  become  Greeks, 
Romans,  Turks,  priest  and  king,  martyr  and  execu 
tioner,  must  fasten  these  images  to  some  reality  in 
our  secret  experience,  or  we  shall  learn  nothing  right 
ly.  What  befell  Asdrubal  or  Caesar  Borgia  is  as 
much  an  illustration  of  the  mind's  powers  and  depra 
vations  as  what  has  befallen  us.  Each  new  law  and 
political  movement  has  meaning  for  you.  Stand  be 
fore  each  of  its  tablets  and  say,  '  Under  this  mask 
did  my  Proteus  nature  hide  itself.'  This  remedies 
the  defect  of  our  too  great  nearness  to  ourselves. 
This  throws  our  actions  into  perspective  :  and  as 
crabs,  goats,  scorpions,  the  balance,  and  the  waterpot 
lose  their  meanness  when  hung  as  signs  in  the  zodiac, 
so  I  can  see  my  own  vices  without  heat  in  the  distant 
persons  of  Solomon,  Alcibiades,  and  Catiline. 

It  is  the  universal  nature  which  gives  worth  to  par 
ticular  tmen  and  things.  Human  life  as  containing 
this  is  mysterious  and  inviolable,  and  we  hedge  it 
round  with  penalties  and  laws.  All  laws  derive  hence 
their  ultimate  reason  ;  all  express  more  or  less  dis 
tinctly  some  command  of  this  supreme,  illimitable  es 
sence.  Property  also  holds  of  the  soul,  covers  great 
spiritual  facts,  and  instinctively  we  at  first  hold  to  it 
with  swords  and  laws,  and  wide  and  complex  combi- 


b  ESSAY    I. 

nations.  The  obscure  consciousness  of  this  fact  is 
the  light  of  all  our  day,  the  claim  of  claims  ;  the 
plea  for  education,  for  justice,  for  charity,  the  foun 
dation  of  friendship  and  love,  and  of  the  heroism  and 
grandeur  which  belong  to  acts  of  self-reliance.  It 
is  remarkable  that  involuntarily  we  always  read  as  su 
perior  beings.  Universal  history,  the  poets,  the  ro 
mancers,  do  not  in  their  stateliest  pictures  —  in  the 
sacerdotal,  the  imperial  palaces,  in  the  triumphs  of 
will  or  of  genius  —  anywhere  lose  our  ear,  anywhere 
make  us  feel  that  we  intrude,  that  this  is  for  better 
men  ;  but  rather  is  it  true,  that  in  their  grandest  strokes 
we  feel  most  at  home.  AH  that  Shakspeare  say's 
of  the  king,  yonder  slip  of  a  boy  that  reads  in  the! 
corner  feels  to  be  true  of  himself.  We  sympathize? 
in  the  great  moments  of  history,  in  the  great  dis 
coveries,  the  great  resistances,  the  great  prosperities 
of  men  ;  —  because  there  law  was  enacted,  the  sea 
\vas  searched,  the  land  was  found,  or  the  blow  was 
struck  for  us,  as  we  ourselves  in  that  place  would 
have  done  or  applauded.  . 

We  have  the  same  interest  in  condition  and  char 
acter.  We  honor  the  rich,  because  they  have  ex 
ternally  the  freedom,  power,  and  grace  which  we  feel 
to  be  proper  to  man,  proper  to  us.  So  all  that  is 
said  of  the  wise  man  by  Stoic,  or  oriental  or  modern 
essayist,  describes  to  each  reader  his  own  idea,  de 
scribes  his  unattained  but  attainable  self.  All  liter- 


HISTORY. 


ature  writes  the  character  of  the  wise  man.  Books, 
monuments,  pictures,  conversation,  are  portraits  in 
which  he  finds  the  lineaments  he  is  forming.  The 
silent  and  the  eloquent  praise  him  and  accost  him, 
and  he  is  stimulated  wherever  he  moves  as  by  per 
sonal  allusions.  A  true  aspirant,  therefore,  never 
needs  look  for  allusions  personal  and  laudatory  in  dis 
course.  I  He  hears  the  commendation,  not  of  him 
self,  but  more  sweet,  of  that  character  he  seeks,  in 
every  word  that  is  said  concerning  character,  yea, 
further,  in  every  fact  and  circumstance,  —  in  the  run 
ning  river  and  the  rustling  corn.  Praise  is  looked, 
homage  tendered,  love  flows  from  mute  nature,  from 
the  mountains  and  the  lights  of  the  firmament. 

These  hints,  dropped  as  it  were  from  sleep  and 
night,  let  us  use  in  broad  day.  The  student  is  to 
read  history  actively  and  not  passively  ;/  to  esteem 
his  own  life  the  text,  and  books  the  commentary. 
Thus  compelled,  the  Muse  of  history  will  utter  ora 
cles,  as  never  to  those  who  do  not  respect  them 
selves.  I  have  no  expectation  that  any  man  will  read 
history  aright,  who  thinks  that  what  was  done  in  a 
remote  age,  by  men  whose  names  have  resounded 
far,  has  any  deeper  sense  than  what  he  is  doing  to 
day.  ,  / 

The  world  exists  for  the  education  of  each  man. 
There  is  no  age  or  state  of  society  or  mode  of  ac 
tion  in  history,  to  which  there  is  not  somewhat  cor- 


8  ESSAY   I. 

responding  in  his  life.  Every  thing  tends  in  a  won 
derful  manner  to  abbreviate  itself  and  yield  its  own 
virtue  to  him.  He  should  see  that  he  can  live  all 
history  in  his  own  person.  He  must  sit  solidly  at 
home,  and  not  suffer  himself  to  be  bullied  by  kings 
or  empires,  but  know  that  he  is  greater  than  all 
the  geography  and  all  the  government  of  the  world  ; 
he  must  transfer  the  point  of  view  from  which  his 
tory  is  commonly  read,  from  Rome  and  Athens 
and  London  to  himself,  and  not  deny  his  conviction 
that  he  is  the  court,  and  if  England  or  Egypt  have 
any  thing  to  say  to  him,  he  will  try  the  case  ;  if  not, 
let  them  for  ever  be  silent  He  must  attain  and 
maintain  that  lofty  sight  where  facts  yield  their  se 
cret  sense,  and  poetry  and  annals  are  alike.  The 
instinct  of  the  mind,  the  purpose  of  nature,  betrays 
itself  in  the  use  we  make  of  the  signal  narrations 
of  history.  Time  dissipates  to  shining  ether  the 
solid  angularity  of  facts.  No  anchor,  no  cable,  no 
fences,  avail  to  keep  a  fact  a  fact.  Babylon,  Troy, 
Tyre,  Palestine,  and  even  early  Rome,  are  pass 
ing  already  into  fiction.  The  Garden  of  Eden, 
the  sun  standing  still  in  Gibeon,  is  poetry  thence 
forward  to  all  nations.  Who  cares  what  the  fact 
was,  when  we  have  made  a  constellation  of  it  to 
hang  in  heaven  an  immortal  sign  ?  London  and  Paris 
and  New  York  must  go  the  same  way.  "  What  is 
History,"  said  Napoleon,  "  but  a  fable  agreed  up- 


HISTORY.  9 

on  ? "  This  life  of  ours  is  stuck  round  with  Egypt, 
Greece,  Gaul,  England,  War,  Colonization,  Church, 
Court,  and  Commerce,  as  with  so  many  flowers  and 
wild  ornaments  grave  and  gay.  I  will  not  make 
more  account  of  them.  I  believe  in  Eternity.  I 
can  find  Greece,  Asia,  Italy,  Spain,  and  the  Islands, 
—  the  genius  and  creative  principle  of  each  and  of 
all  eras  in  my  own  mind. 

We  are  always  coming  up  with  the  emphatic 
facts  of  history  in  our  private  experience,  and 
verifying  them  here.  All  history  becomes  subjec 
tive  ;  in  other  words,  there  is  properly  no  history  ; 
only  biography.  Every  mind  must  know  the  whole 
lesson  for  itself,  —  must  go  over  the  whole  ground. 
What  it  does  not  see,  what  it  does  not  live,  it  will 
not  know.  What  the  former  age  has  epitomized  in 
to  a  formula  or  rule  for  manipular  convenience,  it 
will  lose  all  the  good  of  verifying  for  itself,  by  means 
of  the  wall  of  that  rule.  Somewhere,  sometime,  it 
will  demand  and  find  compensation  for  that  loss  by 
doing  the  work  itself.  Ferguson  discovered  many 
things  in  astronomy  which  had  long  been  known. 
The  better  for  him. 

History  must  be  this  or  it  is  nothing.  Every  law 
which  the  state  enacts  indicates  a  fact  in  human  na 
ture  ;  that  is  all.  We  must  in  ourselves  see  the 
necessary  reason  of  every  fact,  —  see  how  it  could 
and  must  be.  So  stand  before  every  public  and 


10  ESSAY   I. 

private  work ;  before  an  oration  of  Burke,  before  a 
victory  of  Napoleon,  before  a  martyrdom  of  Sir 
Thomas  More,  of  Sidney,  of  Marmaduke  Robinson, 
before  a  French  Reign  of  Terror,  and  a  Salem  hang 
ing  of  witches,  before  a  fanatic  Revival,  and  the  An 
imal  Magnetism  in  Paris,  or  in  Providence.  We 
assume  that  we  under  like  influence  should  be  alike 
affected,  and  should  achieve  the  like  ;  and  we  aim  to 
master  intellectually  the  steps,  and  reach  the  same 
height  or  the  same  degradation,  that  our  fellow,  our 
proxy,  has  done. 

All  inquiry  into  antiquity,  —  all  curiosity  respect 
ing  the  Pyramids,  the  excavated  cities,  Stonehenge, 
the  Ohio  Circles,  Mexico,  Memphis,  —  is  the  desire 
to  do  away  this  wild,  savage,  and  preposterous  There 
or  Then,  and  introduce  in  its  place  the  Here  and 
the  Now.  Belzoni  digs  and  measures  in  the  mum 
my-pits  and  pyramids  of  Thebes,  until  he  can  see  the 
end  of  the  difference  between  the  monstrous  work 
and  himself.  When  he  has  satisfied  himself,  in  gen 
eral  and  in  detail,  that  it  was  made  by  such  a  person 
as  he,  so  armed  and  so  motived,  and  to  ends  to  which 
he  himself  should  also  have  worked,  the  problem 
is  solved  ;  his  thought  lives  along  the  whole  line 
of  temples  and  sphinxes  and  catacombs,  passes 
through  them  all  with  satisfaction,  and  they  live  again 
to  the  mind,  or  are  now. 

A  Gothic  cathedral  affirms  that  it  was  done  by  us, 


HISTORY.  11 

and  riot  done  by  us.  Surely  it  was  by  man,  but  we 
find  it  not  in  our  man.  But  we  apply  ourselves  to 
the  history  of  its  production.  We  put  ourselves 
into  the  place  and  state  of  the  builder.  We  re 
member  the  forest-dwellers,  the  first  temples,  the 
adherence  to  the  first  type,  and  the  decoration  of  it 
as  the  wealth  of  the  nation  increased  ;  the  value 
which  is  given  to  wood  by  carving  led  to  the  carv 
ing  over  the  whole  mountain  of  stone  of  a  cathedral. 
When  we  have  gone  through  this  process,  and  add 
ed  thereto  the  Catholic  Church,  its  cross,  its  music, 
its  processions,  its  Saints'  days  and  image-worship, 
we  have,  as  it  were,  been  the  man  that  made  the  min 
ster  ;  we  have  seen  how  it  could  and  must  be.  We 
have  the  sufficient  reason. 

The  difference  between  men  is  in  their  principle 
of  association.  Some  men  classify  objects  by  color 
and  size  and  other  accidents  of  appearance  ;  others 
by  intrinsic  likeness,  or  by  the  relation  of  cause  and 
effect.  The  progress  of  the  intellect  is  to  the 
clearer  vision  of  causes,  which  neglects  surface  dif 
ferences.  To  the  poet,  to  the  philosopher,  to  the 
saint,  all  things  are  friendly  and  sacred,  all  events 
profitable,  all  days  holy,  all  men  divine.  For  the 
eye  is  fastened  on  the  life,  and  slights  the  circum 
stance.  Every  chemical  substance,  every  plant, 
every  animal  in  its  growth,  teaqhes  the  unity  of 
cause,  the  variety  of  appearance. 


12  ESSAY   I. 

Upborne  and  surrounded  as  we  are  by  this  all-cre 
ating  nature,  soft  and  fluid  as  a  cloud  or  the  air,  why 
should  we  be  such  hard  pedants,  and  magnify  a  few 
forms  ?  Why  should  we  make  account  of  time,  or 
of  magnitude,  or  of  figure  ?  The  soul  knows  them 
not,  and  genius,  obeying  its  law,  knows  how  to  play 
with  them  as  a  young  child  plays  with  graybeards  and 
in  churches.  Genius  studies  the  causal  thought,  and, 
far  back  in  the  womb  of  things,  sees  the  rays  parting 
from  one  orb,  that  diverge  ere  they  fall  by  infinite  di 
ameters.  Genius  watches  the  monad  through  all  his 
masks  as  he  performs  the  metempsychosis  of  nature. 
Genius  detects  through  the  fly,  through  the  caterpil 
lar,  through  the  grub,  through  the  egg,  the  constant 
individual  ;  through  countless  individuals,  the  fixed 
species  ;  through  many  sp.ecies,  the  genus  ;  through 
all  genera,  the  steadfast  type  ;  through  all  the  king 
doms  of  organized  life,  the  eternal  unity.  Nature  is  a 
mutable  cloud,  which  is  always  and  never  the  same. 
She  casts  the  same  thought  into  troops  of  forms,  as  a 
poet  makes  twenty  fables  with  one  moral.  Through 
the  bruteness  and  toughness  of  matter,  a  subtle  spirit 
bends  all  things  to  its  own  will.  The  adamant 
streams  into  soft  but  precise  form  before  it,  and, 
whilst  I  look  at  it,  its  outline  and  texture  are  changed 
again.  Nothing  is  so  fleeting  as  form  ;  yet  never 
does  it  quite  deny  itself.  In  man  we  still  trace  the 
remains  or  hints  of  all  that  we  esteem  badges  of  ser- 


HISTORY.  13 

vitude  in  the  lower  races  ;  yet  in  him  they  enhance 
his  nobleness  and  grace  ;  as  lo,  in  ^Eschylus,  trans 
formed  to  a  cow,  offends  the  imagination  ;  but  how 
changed,  when  as  Isis  in  Egypt  she  meets  Osiris- 
Jove,  a  beautiful  woman,  with  nothing  of  the  meta 
morphosis  left  but  the  lunar  horns  as  the  splendid 
ornament  of  her  brows  ! 

The  identity  of  history  is  equally  intrinsic,  the 
diversity  equally  obvious.  There  is  at  the  surface 
infinite  variety  of  things  ;  at  the  centre  there  is  sim* 
plicity  of  cause.  How  many  are  the  acts  of  one 
man  in  which  we  recognize  the  same  character  ! 
Observe  the  sources  of  our  information  in  respect  to 
the  Greek  genius.  We  have  the  civil  history  of  that 
people,  as  Herodotus,  Thucydides,  Xenophon,  and 
Plutarch  have  given  it  ; '  a  very  sufficient  account  of 
what  manner  of  persons  they  were,  and  what  they 
did.  We  have  the  same  national  mind  expressed  for 
us  again  in  their  literature,  in  epic  and  lyric  poems, 
drama,  and  philosophy  ;  a  very  complete  form. 
Then  we  have  it  once  more  in  their  architecture,  a 
beauty  as  of  temperance  itself,  limited  to  the  straight 
line  and  the  square,  —  a  builded  geometry.  Then 
we  have  it  once  again  in  sculpture,  the  u  tongue  on 
the  balance  of  expression,"  a  multitude  of  forms  in 
the  utmost  freedom  of  action,  and  never  transgressing 
the  ideal  serenity  ;  like  votaries  performing  some 
religious  dance  before  the  gods,  and,  though  in  con- 


14  ESSAY    I. 

vulsive  pain  or  mortal  combat,  never  daring  to  break 
the  figure  and  decorum  of  their  dance.  Thus,  of  the 
genius  of  one  remarkable  people,  we  have  a  fourfold 
representation  :  and  to  the  senses  what  more  unlike 
than  an  ode  of  Pindar,  a  marble  centaur,  the  peri 
style  of  the  Parthenon,  and  the  last  actions  of  Pho- 
cion  ? 

Every  one  must  have  observed  faces  and  forms 
which,  without  any  resembling  feature,  make  a  like 
impression  on  the  beholder.  A  particular  picture  or 
copy  of  verses,  if  it  do  not  awaken  the  same  train  of 
images,  will  yet  superinduce  the  same  sentiment  as 
some  wild  mountain  walk,  although  the  resemblance 
is  nowise  obvious  to  the  senses,  but  is  occult  and  out 
of  the  reach  of  the  understanding.  Nature  is  an 
endless  combination  and  repetition  of  a  very  few 
laws.  She  hums  the  old  well-known  air  through 
innumerable  variations. 

Nature  is  full  of  a  sublime  family  likeness  through 
out  her  works  ;  and  delights  in  startling  us  with  re 
semblances  in  the  most  unexpected  quarters.  I 
have  seen  the  head  of  an  old  sachem  of  the  forest, 
which  at  once  reminded  the  eye  of  a  bald  mountain 
summit,  and  the  furrows  of  the  brow  suggested  the 
strata  of  the  rock.  There  are  men  whose  manners 
have  the  same  essential  splendor  as  the  simple  and 
awful  sculpture  on  the  friezes  of  the  Parthenon,  and 
the  remains  of  the  earliest  Greek  art.  And  there 


HISTORY.  15 

are  compositions  of  the  same  strain  to  be  found  in 
the  books  of  all  ages.  What  is  Guido's  Rospigliosi 
Aurora  but  a  morning  thought,  as  the  horses  in  it  are 
only  a  morning  cloud.  If  any  one  will  but  take 
pains  to  observe  the  variety  of  actions  to  which  he  is 
equally  inclined  in  certain  moods  of  mind,  and  those 
to  which  he  is  averse,  he  will  see  how  deep  is  the 
chain  of  affinity. 

A  painter  told  me  that  nobody  could  draw  a  tree 
without  in  some  sort  becoming  a  tree  ;  or  draw  a 
child  by  studying  the  outlines  of  its  form  merely,  — 
but,  by  watching  for  a  time  his  motions  and  plays, 
the  painter  enters  into  his  nature,  and  can  then  draw 
him  at  will  in  every  attitude.  So  Roos  "  entered 
into  the  inmost  nature  of  a  sheep."  I  knew  a 
draughtsman  employed  in  a  public  survey,  who  found 
that  he  could  not  sketch  the  rocks  until  their  geologi 
cal  structure  was  first  explained  to  him.  In  a  certain 
state  of  thought  is  the  common  origin  of  very  diverse 
works.  It  is  the  spirit  and  not  the  fact  that  is  iden 
tical.  By  a  deeper  apprehension,  and  not  primarily 
by  a  painful  acquisition  of  many  manual  skills,  the 
artist  attains  the  power  of  awakening  other  souls  to  a 
given  activity. 

It  has  been  said,  that  "  common  souls  pay  with 
what  they  do  ;  nobler  souls  with  that  which  they 
are."  And  why  ?  Because  a  profound  nature 
awakens  in  us  by  its  actions  and  words,  by  its 


16  ESSAY   I. 

very  looks  and  manners,  the  same  power  and  beau 
ty  that  a  gallery  of  sculpture,  or  of  pictures,  ad 
dresses. 

Civil  and  natural  history,  the  history  of  art  and  of 
literature,  must  be  explained  from  individual  history, 
or  must  remain  words.  There  is  nothing  but  is 
related  to  us,  nothing  that  does  not  interest  us,  — 
kingdom,  college,  tree,  horse,  or  iron  shoe,  the  roots 
of  all  things  are  in  man.  Santa  Croce  and  the 
Dome  of  St.  Peter's  are  lame  copies  after  a  divine 
model.  Strasburg  Cathedral  is  a  material  counter 
part  of  the  soul  of  Erwin  of  Steinbach.  The  true 
poem  is  the  poet's  mind ;  the  true  ship  is  the  ship 
builder.  In  the  man,  could  we  lay  him  open,  we 
should  see  the  reason  for  the  last  flourish  and  tendril 
of  his  work  ;  as  every  spine  and  tint  in  the  sea-shell 
preexist  in  the  secreting  organs  of  the  fish.  The 
whole  of  heraldry  and  of  chivalry  is  in  courtesy.  A 
man  of  fine  manners  shall  pronounce  your  name  with 
all  the  ornament  that  titles  of  nobility  could  ever  add. 

The  trivial  experience  of  every  day  is  always  veri 
fying  some  old  prediction  to  us,  and  converting  into 
things  the  words  and  signs  which  we  had  heard  and 
seen  without  heed.  A  lady,  with  whom  I  was  riding 
in  the  forest,  said  to  me,  that  the  woods  always 
seemed  to  her  to  wait,  as  if  the  genii  who  inhabit 
them  suspended  their  deeds  until  the  wayfarer  has 
passed  onward :  a  thought  which  poetry  has  cele- 


HISTORY. 


17 


brated  in  the  dance  of  the  fairies,  which  breaks  off  on 
the  approach  of  human  feet.  The  man  who  has  seen 
the  rising  moon  break  out  of  the  clouds  at  midnight 
has  been  present  like  an  archangel  at  the  creation  of 
light  and  of  the  world.  I  remember  one  summer 
day,  in  the  fields,  my  companion  pointed  out  to  me  a 
broad  cloud,  which  might  extend  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
parallel  to  the  horizon,  quite  accurately  in  the  form 
of  a  cherub  as  painted  over  churches,  —  a  round 
block  in  the  centre,  which  it  was  easy  to  animate 
with  eyes  and  mouth,  supported  on  either  side  by 
wide-stretched  symmetrical  wings.  What  appears 
once  in  the  atmosphere  may  appear  often,  and  it  was 
undoubtedly  the  archetype  of  that  familiar  ornament. 
I  have  seen  in  the  sky  a  chain  of  summer  lightning 
which  at  once  showed  to  me  that  the  Greeks  drew 
from  nature  when  they  painted  the  thunderbolt  in  the 
hand  of  Jove.  I  have  seen  a  snow-drift  along  the 
sides  of  the  stone  wall  which  obviously  gave  the  idea 
of  the  common  architectural  scroll  to  abut  a  tower. 

By  surrounding  ourselves  with  the  original  circum 
stances,  we  invent  anew  the  orders  and  the  ornaments 
of  architecture,  as  we  see  how  each  people  merely 
decorated  its  primitive  abodes.  The  Doric  temple 
preserves  the  semblance  of  the  wooden  cabin  in 
which  the  Dorian  dwelt.  The  Chinese  pagoda  is 
plainly  a  Tartar  tent.  The  Indian  and  Egyptian 
temples  still  betray  the  mounds  and  subterranean 
2 


18  ESSAY   I. 

houses  of  their  forefathers.  u  The  custom  of  making 
houses  and  tombs  in  the  living  rock,"  says  Heeren, 
in  his  Researches  on  the  Ethiopians,  "  determined 
very  naturally  the  principal  character  of  the  Nubian 
Egyptian  architecture  to  the  colossal  form  which  it 
assumed.  In  these  caverns,  already  prepared  by 
nature,  the  eye  was  accustomed  to  dwell  on  huge 
shapes  and  masses,  so  that,  when  art  came  to  the  as 
sistance  of  nature,  it  could  not  move  on  a  small  scale 
without  degrading  itself.  What  would  statues  of  the 
usual  size,  or  neat  porches  and  wings,  have  been,  as 
sociated  with  those  gigantic  halls  before  which  only 
Colossi  could  sit  as  watchmen,  or  lean  on  the  pillars 
of  the  interior  ?  " 

The  Gothic  church  plainly  originated  in  a  rude 
adaptation  of  the  forest  trees  with  all  their  boughs 
to  a  festal  or  solemn  arcade,  as  the  bands  about  the 
cleft  pillars  still  indicate  the  green  withes  that  tied 
them.  No  one  can  walk  in  a  road  cut  through  pine 
woods,  without  being  struck  with  the  architectural 
appearance  of  the  grove,  especially  in  winter,  when 
the  barrenness  of  all  other  trees  shows  the  low  arch 
of  the  Saxons.  In  the  woods  in  a  winter  afternoon 
one  will  see  as  readily  the  origin  of  the  stained 
glass  window,  with  which  the  Gothic  cathedrals  are 
adorned,  in  the  colors  of  the  western  sky  seen 
through  the  bare  and  crossing  branches  of  the  forest. 
Nor  can  any  lover  of  nature  enter  the  old  piles  of 


HISTORY.  19 

Oxford  and  the  English  cathedrals,  without  feeling 
that  the  forest  overpowered  the  mind  of  the  builder, 
and  that  his  chisel,  his  saw,  and  plane  still  repro 
duced  its  ferns,  its  spikes  of  flowers,  its  locust,  elm, 
oak,  pine,  fir,  and  spruce. 

The  Gothic  cathedral  is  a  blossoming  in  stone 
subdued  by  the  insatiable  demand  of  harmony  in  man. 
The  mountain  of  granite  blooms  into  an  eternal  flow 
er,  with  the  lightness  and  delicate  finish,  as  well  as 
the  aerial  proportions  and  perspective,  of  vegetable 
beauty. 

In  like  manner,  all  public  facts  are  to  be  individ 
ualized,  all  private  facts  are  to  be  generalized.  Then 
at  once  History  becomes  fluid  and  true,  and  Biogra 
phy  deep  and  sublime.  As  the  Persian  imitated  in 
the  slender  shafts  and  capitals  of  his  architecture  the 
stem  and  flower  of  the  lotus  and  palm,  so  the  Persian 
court  in  its  magnificent  era  never  gave  over  the  no 
madism  of  its  barbarous  tribes,  but  travelled  from 
Ecbatana,  where  the  spring  was  spent,  to  Susa  in 
summer,  and  to  Babylon  for  the  winter. 

In  the  early  history  of  Asia  and  Africa,  Nomadism 
and  Agriculture  are  the  two  antagonist  facts.  The 
geography  of  Asia  and  of  Africa  necessitated  a  no 
madic  life.  But  the  nomads  were  the  terror  of  all 
those  whom  the  soil,  or  the  advantages  of  a  market, 
had  induced  to  build  towns.  Agriculture,  therefore, 
was  a  religious  injunction,  because  of  the  perils  of 


20  ESSAY   I. 

the  state  from  nomadism.  And  in  these  late  and 
civil  countries  of  England  and  America,  these  pro 
pensities  still  fight  out  the  old  battle  in  the  nation 
and  in  the  individual.  The  nomads  of  Africa  were 
constrained  to  wander  by  the  attacks  of  the  gad 
fly,  which  drives  the  cattle  mad,  and  so  compels 
the  tribe  to  emigrate  in  the  rainy  season,  and  to 
drive  off  the  cattle  to  the  higher  sandy  regions.  The 
nomads  of  Asia  follow  the  pasturage  from  month  to 
month.  In  America  and  Europe,  the  nomadism  is 
of  trade  and  curiosity  ;  a  progress,  certainly,  from 
the  gad-fly  of  Astaboras  to  the  Anglo  and  Italo-mania 
of  Boston  Bay.  Sacred  cities,  to  which  a  periodical 
religious  pilgrimage  was  enjoined,  or  stringent  laws 
and  customs,  tending  to  invigorate  the  national  bond, 
were  the  check  on  the  old  rovers  ;  and  the  cumula 
tive  values  of  long  residence  are  the  restraints  on  the 
itineracy  of  the  present  day.  The  antagonism  of  the 
two  tendencies  is  not  less  active  in  individuals,  as 
the  love  of  adventure  or  the  love  of  repose  happens 
to  predominate.  A  man  of  rude  health  and  flowing 
spirits  has  the  faculty  of  rapid  domestication,  lives  in 
his  wagon,  and  roams  through  all  latitudes  as  easily  as 
a  Calmuc.  At  sea,  or  in  the  forest,  or  in  the  snow, 
he  sleeps  as  warm,  dines  with  as  good  appetite, 
and  associates  as  happily,,  as  beside  his  own  chim 
neys.  Or  perhaps  his  facility  is  deeper  seated,  in 
the  increased  range  of  his  faculties  of  observation, 


HISTORY.  21 

which  yield  him  points  of  interest  wherever  fresh 
objects  meet  his  eyes.  The  pastoral  nations  were 
needy  and  hungry  to  desperation  ;  and  this  intellect 
ual  nomadism,  in  its  excess,  bankrupts  the  mind, 
through  the  dissipation  of  power  on  a  miscellany  of 
objects.  The  home-keeping  wit,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  that  continence  or  content  which  finds  all  the  ele 
ments  of  life  in  its  own  soil  ;  and  which  has  its  own 
perils  of  monotony  and  deterioration,  if  not  stimulated 
by  foreign  infusions. 

Every  thing  the  individual  sees  without  him  cor 
responds  to  his  states  of  mind,  and  every  thing  is  in 
turn  intelligible  to  him,  as  his  onward  thinking  leads 
him  into  the  truth  to  which  that  fact  or  series  be 
longs. 

The  primeval  world, — the  Fore- World,  as  the 
Germans  say,  —  I  can  dive  to  it  in  myself  as  well  as 
grope  for  it  with  researching  fingers  in  catacombs, 
libraries,  and  the  broken  reliefs  and  torsos  of  ruined 
villas. 

What  is  the  foundation  of  that  interest  all  men 
feel  in  Greek  history,  letters,  art,  and  poetry,  in  all 
its  periods,  from  the  Heroic  or  Homeric  age  down 
to  the  domestic  life  of  the  Athenians  and  Spartans, 
four  or  five  .centuries  later  ?  What  but  this,  that 
every  man  passes  personally  through  a  Grecian  pe 
riod.  The  Grecian  state  is  the  era  of  the  bodily 
nature,  the  perfection  of  the  senses,  —  of  the  spirit- 


22  ESSAY   I. 

ual  nature  unfolded  in  strict  unity  with  the  body.  In 
it  existed  those  human  forms  which  supplied  the 
sculptor  with  his  models  of  Hercules,  Phoebus,  and 
Jove  ;  not  like  the  forms  abounding  in  the  streets  of 
modern  cities,  wherein  the  face  is  a  confused  blur  of 
features,  but  composed  of  incorrupt,  sharply  defined, 
and  symmetrical  features,  whose  eye-sockets  are  so 
formed  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  such  eyes  to 
squint,  and  take  furtive  glances  on  this  side  and  on 
that,  but  they  must  turn  the  whole  head.  The  man 
ners  of  that  period  are  plain  and  fierce.  The  rever 
ence  exhibited  is  for  personal  qualities,  courage,  ad 
dress,  self-command,  justice,  strength,  swiftness,  a 
loud  voice,  a  broad  chest.  Luxury  and  elegance  are 
not  known.  A  sparse  population  and  want  make 
every  man  his  own  valet,  cook,  butcher,  and  soldier, 
and  the  habit  of  supplying  his  own  needs  educates 
the  body  to  wonderful  performances.  Such  are  the 
Agamemnon  and  Diomed  of  Homer,  and  not  far  dif 
ferent  is  the  picture  Xenophon  gives -of  himself  and 
his  compatriots  in  the  Retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand. 
"  After  the  army  had  crossed  the  river  Teleboas  in 
Armenia,  there  fell  much  snow,  and  the  troops  lay 
miserably  on  the  ground  covered  with  it.  But  Xeno 
phon  arose  naked,  and,  taking  an  axe,  began  to  split 
wood  ;  whereupon  others  rose  and  did  the  like." 
Throughout  his  army  exists  a  boundless  liberty  of 
speech.  They  quarrel  for  plunder,  they  wrangle 


HISTORY.  23 

with  the  generals  on  each  new  order,  and  Xenophon 
is  as  sharp-tongued  as  any,  and  sharper-tongued  than 
most,  and  so  gives  as  good  as  he  gets.  Who  does 
not  see  that  this  is  a  gang  of  great  boys,  with  such  a 
code  of  honor  and  such  lax  discipline  as  great  boys 
have  ? 

The  costly  charm  of  the  ancient  tragedy,  and  in 
deed  of  all  the  old  literature,  is,  that  the  persons  speak 
simply,  —  speak  as  persons  who  have  great  good 
sense  without  knowing  it,  before  yet  the  reflective 
habit  has  become  the  predominant  habit  of  the  mind. 
Our  admiration  of  the  antique  is  not  admiration  of 
the  old,  but  of  the  natural,  w  The  Greeks  are  not 
reflective,  but  perfect  in  their  senses  and  in  their 
health,  with  the  finest  physical  organization  in  the 
world.  Adults  acted  with  the  simplicity  and  grace 
of  children.  They  made  vases,  tragedies,  and  stat 
ues,  such  as  healthy  senses  should,  —  that  is,  in  good 
taste.  Such  things  have  continued  to  be  made  in  all 
ages,  and  are  now,  wherever  a  healthy  physique  ex 
ists  ;  but,  as  a  plass,  from  their  superior  organization, 
they  have  surpassed  all.  They  combine  the  energy 
of  manhood  with  the  engaging  unconsciousness  of 
childhood.  The  attraction  of  these  manners  is  that 
they  belong  to  man,  and  are  known  to  every  man  in 
virtue  of  his  being  once  a  child  ;  besides  that  there 
are  always  individuals  who  retain  these  characteris 
tics.  A  person  of  childlike  genius  and  inborn  energy 


24  ESSAY   I. 

is  still  a  Greek,  and  revives  our  love  of  the  Muse  of 
Hellas.  I  admire  the  love  of  nature  in  the  Philoc- 
tetes.  In  reading  those  fine  apostrophes  to  sleep,  to 
the  stars,  rocks,  mountains,  and  waves,  I  feel  time 
passing  away  as  an  ebbing  sea.  I  feel  the  eternity  of 
.man,  the  identity  of  his  thought.  The  Greek  had, 
it  seems,  the  same  fellow-beings  as  I.  The  sun  and 
moon,  water  and  fire,  met  his  heart  precisely  as  they 
meet  mine.  Then  the  vaunted  distinction  between 
Greek  and  English,  between  Classic  and  Romantic 
schools,  seems  superficial  and  pedantic.  When  a 
thought  of  Plato  becomes  a  thought  to  me,  —  when 
a  truth  that  fired  the  soul  of  Pindar  fires  mine,  time 
is  no  more.  When  I  feel  that  we  two  meet  in  a 
perception,  that  our  two  souls  are  tinged  with  the 
same  hue,  and  do,  as  it  were,  run  into  one,  why 
should  I  measure  degrees  of  latitude,  why  should  I 
count  Egyptian  years  ? 

The  student  interprets  the  age  of  chivalry  by  his 
own  age  of  chivalry,  and  the  days  of  maritime  ad 
venture  and  circumnavigation  by  quitet  parallel  mini 
ature  experiences  of  his  own.  To  the  sacred  history 
of  the  world,  he  has  the  same  key.  When  the  voice 
of  a  prophet  out  of  the  deeps  of  antiquity  merely 
echoes  to  him  a  sentiment  of  his  infancy,  a  prayer  of 
his  youth,  he  then  pierces  to  the  truth  through  all  the 
confusion  of  tradition  arid  the  caricature  of  institu 
tions. 


HISTORY.  25 

Rare,  extravagant  spirits  come  by  us  at  intervals, 
who  disclose  to  us  new  facts  in  nature.  I  see  that 
menjofjCjod  have,  from  time  to  time,  walked  among 
men  and  made  their  commission  felt  in  the  heart  and 
soul  of  the  commonest  hearer.  Hence,  evidently, 
the  tripod,  the  priest,  the  priestess  inspired  by  the 
divine  afflatus. 

Jesus  astonishes  and  overpowers  sensual  people. 
They  cannot  unite  him  to  history,  or  reconcile  him 
with  themselves.  As  they  come  to  revere  their  in 
tuitions  and  aspire  to  live  holily,  their  own  piety  ex 
plains  every  fact,  every  word. 

How  easily  these  old  worships  of  Moses,  of  Zo 
roaster,  of  Menu,  of  $ocrates,  domesticate  them 
selves  in  the  mind.     I  cannot  find  any  antiquity  in  y 
them.     They  are  mine  as  much  as  theirs. 

I  have  seen  the  first  monks  and  anchorets  without 
crossing  seas  or  centuries.  More  than  once  some 
individual  has  appeared  to  me  with  such  negligence 
of  labor  and  such  commanding  contemplation,  a 
haughty  beneficiary,  begging  in  the  name  of  God,  as 
made  good  to  the  nineteenth  century  Simeon  the 
Stylite,  the  Thebais,  and  the  first  Capuchins. 

The  priestcraft  of  the  East  and  West,  of  the 
Magian,  Brahmin,  Druid,  and  Inca,  is  expounded  in 
the  individual's  private  life.  The  cramping  influence 
of  a  hard  formalist  on  a  young  child  in  repressing  his 
spirits  and  courage,  paralyzing  the  understanding,  and 


26  ESSAY   I. 

that  without  producing  indignation,  but  only  fear  and 
obedience,  and  even  much  sympathy  with  the  tyran 
ny,  —  is  a  familiar  fact  explained  to  the  child  when 
he  becomes  a  man,  only  by  seeing  that  the  oppres 
sor  of  his  youth  is  himself  a  child  tyrannized  over 
by  those  names  and  words  and  forms,  of  whose  in 
fluence  he  was  merely  the  organ  to  the  youth.  The 
fact  teaches  him  how  Belus  was  worshipped,  and 
how  the  Pyramids  were  built,  better  than  the  discov 
ery  by  Champollion  of  the  names  of  all  the  work 
men  and  the  cost  of  every  tile.  He  finds  Assyria 
and  the  Mounds  of  Cholula  at  his  door,  and  himself 
has  laid  the  courses. 

Again,  in  that  protest  whic.h  each  considerate  per 
son  makes  against  the  superstition  of  his  times,  he 
repeats  step  for  step  the  part  of  old  reformers,  and 
in  the  search  after  truth  finds  like  them  new  perils  to 
virtue.  He  learns  again  what  moral  vigor  is  needed 
to  supply  the  girdle  of  a  superstition.  A  great  licen 
tiousness  treads  on  the  heels  of  a  reformation.  How 
many  times  in  the  history  of  the  world  has  the  Lu 
ther  of  the  day  had  to  lament  the  decay  of  piety  in 
his  own  household  !  "  Doctor,"  said  his  wife  to 
Martin  Luther,  one  day,  "  how  is  it  that,  whilst  sub 
ject  to  papacy,  we  prayed  so  often  and  with  such 
fervor,  whilst  now  we  pray  with  the  utmost  coldness 
and  very  seldom  ?  " 

The  advancing  man  discovers  how  deep  a  proper^ 


HISTORY. 


ty  he  has  in  literature,  —  in  all  fable  as  well  as  in  all 
history.  He  finds  that  the  poet  was  no  odd  fellow 
who  described  strange  and  impossible  situations,  but 
that  universal  man  wrote  by  his  pen  a  confession  true 
for  one  and  true  for  all.  His  own  secret  biography 
he  finds  in  lines  wonderfully  intelligible  to  him,  dot 
ted  down  before  he  was  born.  One  after  another 
he  comes  up  in  his  private  adventures  with  every 
fable  of  jEsop,  of  Homer,  of  Hafiz,  of  Ariosto,  of 
Chaucer,  of  Scott,  and  verifies  them  with  his  own 
head  and  hands. 

The  beautiful  fables  of  the  Greeks,  being  proper 
creations  of  the  imagination  and  not  of  the  fancy, 
are  universal  verities.  What  a  range  of  meanings 
and  what  perpetual  pertinence  has  the  story  of  Pro 
metheus  !  Beside  its  primary  value  as  the  first  chap 
ter  of  the  history  of  Europe,  (the  mythology  thinly 
veiling  authentic  facts,  the  invention  of  the  mechanic 
arts,  and  the  migration  of  colonies,)  it  gives  the  his 
tory  of  religion  with  some  closeness  to  the  faith  of  lat 
er  ages.  Prometheus  is  the  Jesus  of  the  old  mythol 
ogy.  He  is  the  friend  of  man  ;  stands  between  the 
unjust  "  justice  "  of  the  Eternal  Father  and  the  race 
of  mortals,  and  readily  suffers  all  things  on  their  ac 
count.  But  where  it  departs  from  the  Calvinistic 
Christianity,  and  exhibits  him  as  the  defier  of  Jove, 
it  represents  a  state  of  mind  which  readily  appears 
wherever  the  doctrine  of  Theism  is  taught  in  a  crude, 


28  ESSAY    I. 

objective  form,  and  which  seems  the  self-defence  of 
man  against  this  untruth,  namely,  a  discontent  with 
the  believed  fact  that  a  God  exists,  and  a  feeling  that 
the  obligation  of  reverence  is  onerous.  It  would 
.steal,  if  it  could,  the  fire  of  the  Creator,  and  live 
apart  from  him,  and  independent  of  him.  The  Pro 
metheus  Vinctus  is  the  romance  of  skepticism.  Not 
less  true  to  all  time  are  the  details  of  that  stately  ap 
ologue.  Apollo  kept  the  flocks  of  Admetus,  said 
the  poets.  When  the  gods  come  among  men,  they 
are  not  known.  Jesus  was  not ;  Socrates  and  Shak- 
speare  were  not.  Antaeus  was  suffocated  by  the 
gripe  of  Hercules,  but  every  time  he  touched  his 
mother  earth,  his  strength  was  renewed.  Man  is  the 
broken  giant,  and,  in  all  his  weakness,  both  his  body 
and  his  mind  are  invigorated  by  habits  of  conversa 
tion  with  nature.  The  power  of  music,  the  power 
of  poetry  to  unfix,  and,  as  it  were,  clap  wings  to  sol 
id  nature,  interprets  the  riddle  of  Orpheus.  The  phi 
losophical  perception  of  identity  through  endless  mu 
tations  of  form  makes  him  know  the  Proteus.  What 
else  am  I  who  laughed  or  wept  yesterday,  who  slept 
last  night  like  a  corpse,  and  this  morning  stood  and  ran  ? 
And  what  see  I  on  any  side  but  the  transmigrations 
of  Proteus  ?  I  can  symbolize  my  thought  by  using 
the  name  of  any  creature,  of  any  fact,  because  every 
creature  is  man  agent  or  patient.  Tantalus  is  but 
a  name  for  you  and  me.  Tantalus  means  the  impos- 


HISTORY.  29 

sibility  of  drinking  the  waters  of  thought  which  are 
always  gleaming  and  waving  within  sight  of  the  soul. 
The  transmigration  of  souls  is  no  fable.  I  would  it 
were  ;  but  men  and  women  are  only  half  human. 
Every  animal  of  the  barn-yard,  the  field,  and  the  for 
est,  of  the  earth  and  of  the  waters  that  are  under 
the  earth,  has  contrived  to  get  a  footing  and  to  leave 
the  print  of  its  features  and  form  in  some  one  or  oth 
er  of  these  upright,  heaven-facing  speakers.  Ah  ! 
brother,  stop  the  ebb  of  thy  soul,  —  ebbing  downward 
into  the  Forms  into  whose  habits  thou  hast  now  for 
many  years  slid.  As  near  and  proper  to  us  is  also 
that  old  fable  of  the  Sphinx,  who  was  said  to  sit  in 
the  road-side  and  put  riddles  to  every  passenger.  If 
the  man  could  not  answer,  she  swallowed  him  alive. 
If  he  could  solve  the  riddle,  the  Sphinx  was  slain. 
What  is  our  life  but  an  endless  flight  of  winged  facts 
or  events  !  In  splendid  variety  these  changes  come, 
all  putting  questions  to  the  human  spirit.  Those  men 
who  cannot  answer  by  a  superior  wisdom  these  facts 
or  questions  of  time,  serve  them.  Facts  encumber 
them,  tyrannize  over  them,  and  make  the  men  of  rou 
tine  the  men  of  sense,  in  whom  a  literal  obedience  to  x^ 
facts  has  extinguished  every  spark  of  that  light  by 
which  man  is  truly  man.  But  if  the  man  is  true  to 
his  better  instincts  or  sentiments,  and  refuses  the  do 
minion  of  facts,  as  one  that  comes  of  a  higher  race, 
remains  fast  by  the  soul  and  sees  the  principle,  then 


30  ESSAY   I. 

the  facts  fall  aptly  and  supple  into  their  places  ;  they 
know  their  master,  and  the  meanest  of  them  glorifies 
him. 

See  in  Goethe's  Helena  the  same  desire  that  ev 
ery  word  should  be  a  thing.  These  figures,  he 
would  say,  these  Chirons,  Griffins,  Phorkyas,  Hel 
en,  and  Leda,  are  somewhat,  and  do  exert  a  spe 
cific  influence  on  the  mind.  So  far  then  are  they 
eternal  entities,  as  real  to-day  as  in  the  first  Olym 
piad.  Much  revolving  them,  he  writes  out  freely 
his  humor,  and  gives  them  body  to  his  own  imagi 
nation.  And  although  that  poem  be  as  vague  and 
fantastic  as  a  dream,  yet  is  it  much  more  attractive 
than  the  more  regular  dramatic  pieces  of  the  same 
author,  for  the  reason  that  it  operates  a  wonderful 
relief  to  the  mind  from  the  routine  of  customary 
images,  —  awakens  the  reader's  invention  and  fancy 
by  the  wild  freedom  of  the  design,  and  by  the  un 
ceasing  succession  of  brisk  shocks  of  surprise. 

The  universal  nature,  too  strong  for  the  petty 
nature  of  the  bard,  sits  on  his  neck  and  writes 
through  his  hand  ;  so  that  when  he  seems  to  vent 
a  mere  caprice  and  wild  romance,  the  issue  is  an 
exact  allegory.  Hence  Plato  said  that  "poets 
utter  great  and  wise  things  which  they  do  not  them 
selves  understand."  All  the  fictions  of  the  Middle 
Age  explain  themselves  as  a  masked  or  frolic  ex 
pression  of  that  which  in  grave  earnest  the  mind  of 


HISTORY.  31 

that  period  toiled  to  achieve.  Magic,  and  all  that  is 
ascribed  to  it,  is  a  deep  presentiment  of  the  powers 
of  science.  The  shoes  of  swiftness,  the  sword  of 
sharpness,  the  power  of  subduing  the  elements,  of 
using  the  secret  virtues  of  minerals,  of  understand 
ing  the  voices  of  birds,  are  the  obscure  efforts  of  the 
mind  in  a  right  direction.  The  preternatural  prow 
ess  of  the  hero,  the  gift  of  perpetual  youth,  and  the 
like,  are  alike  the  endeavour  of  the  human  spirit 
"  to  bend  the  shows  of  things  to  the  desires  of  the 
mind." 

In  Perceforest  and  Amadis  de  Gaul,  a  garland  and 
a  rose  bloom  on  the  head  of  her  who  is  faithful,  and 
fade  on  the  brow  of  the  inconstant.  In  the  story  of 
the  Boy  and  the  Mantle,  even  a  mature  reader  may 
be  surprised  with  a  glow  of  virtuous  pleasure  at  the 
triumph  of  the  gentle  Genelas  ;  and,  indeed,  all  the 
postulates  of  elfin  annals,  —  that  the  fairies  do  not 
like  to  be  named  ;  that  their  gifts  are  capricious  and 
not  to  be  trusted  ;  that  who  seeks  a  treasure  must 
not  speak  ;  and  the  like,  —  I  find  true  in  Concord, 
however  they  might  be  in  Cornwall  or  Bretagne. 

Is  it  otherwise  in  the  newest  romance  ?  I  read 
the  Bride  of  Lammermoor.  Sir  William  Ashton 
is  a  mask  for  a  vulgar  temptation,  Ravenswood  Cas 
tle  a  fine  name  for  proud  poverty,  and  the  foreign 
mission  of  state  only  a  Bunyan  disguise  for  honest 
industry.  We  may  all  shoot  a  wild  bull  that  would 


ESSAY   I. 


toss  the  good  and  beautiful,  by  fighting  down  the  un 
just  and  sensual.  Lucy  Ashton  is  another  name  for 
fidelity,  which  is  always  beautiful  and  always  liable 
to  calamity  in  this  world. 

But  along  with  the  civil  and  metaphysical  history 
of  man,  another  history  goes  daily  forward, — that 
of  the  external  world,  —  in  which  he  is  not  less 
strictly  implicated.  He  is  the  compend  of  time  ; 
he  is  also  the  correlative  of  nature.  *  His  power 
consists  in  the  multitude  of  his  affinities,  in  the 
fact  that  his  life  is  intertwined  with  the  whole  chain 
of  organic  and  inorganic  being.  In  old  Rome  the 
public  roads  beginning  at  the  Forum  proceeded  north, 
south,  east,  west,  to  the  centre  of  every  province  of 
the  empire,  making  each  market-town  of  Persia, 
Spain,  and  Britain  pervious  to  the  soldiers  of  the 
capital  :  so  out  of  the  human  heart  go,  as  it  were, 
highways  to  the  heart  of  every  object  in  nature,  to 
reduce  it  under  the  dominion  of  man.  A  man  is  a 
bundle  of  relations,  a  knot  of  roots,  whose  flower 
and  fruitage  is  the  world.  His  faculties  refer  to  na 
tures  out  of  him,  and  predict  the  world  he  is  to  in 
habit,  as  the  fins  of  the  fish  foreshow  that  water 
exists,  or  the  wings  of  an  eagle  in  the  egg  presup 
pose  air.  He  cannot  live  without  a  world.  Put 
Napoleon  in  an  island  prison,  let  his  faculties  find 
no  men  to  act  on,  no  Alps  to  climb,  no  stake  to 


HISTORY.  33 

play  for,  and  he  would  beat  the  air  and  appear  stu 
pid.  Transport  him  to  large  countries,  dense  pop 
ulation,  complex  interests,  and  antagonist  power, 
and  you  shall  see  that  the  man  Napoleon,  bounded, 
that  is,  by  such  a  profile  and  outline,  is  not  the  vir 
tual  Napoleon.  This  is  but  Talbot's  shadow  ; 

"  His  substance  is  not  nere : 
For  what  you  see  is  but  the  smallest  part 
And  least  proportion  of  humanity ; 
But  were  the  whole  frame  here, 
It  is  of  such  a  spacious,  lofty  pitch, 
Your  roof  were  not  sufficient  to  contain  it." 

Henry  VI. 

Columbus  needs  a  planet  to  shape  his  course  upon. 
Newton  and  Laplace  need  myriads  of  ages  and  thick- 
strewn  celestial  areas.  One  may  say  a  gravitating 
solar  system  is  already  prophesied  in  the  nature  of 
Newton's  mind.  Not  less  does  the  brain  of  Davy 
or  of  Gay-Lussac,  from  childhood  exploring  the 
affinities  and  repulsions  of  particles,  anticipate  the 
laws  of  organization.  Does  not  the  eye  of  the  hu 
man  embryo  predict  the  light  ?  the  ear  of  Handel 
predict  the  witchcraft  of  harmonic  sound  ?  Do  not 
the  constructive  fingers  of  Watt,  Fulton,  Whittemore, 
Arkwright,  predict  the  fusible,  hard,  and  temperable 
texture  of  metals,  the  properties  of  stone,  water,  and 
wood  ?  Do  not  the  lovely  attributes  of  the  maiden 
child  predict  the  refinements  and  decorations  of  civil 
society  ?  Here  al/o  we  are  reminded  of  the  action 
3 


34  ESSAY    I. 

of  man  on  man.  A  mind  might  ponder  its  thought 
for  ages,  and  not  gain  so  much  self-knowledge  as  the 
passion  of  love  shall  teach  it  in  a  day.  Who  knows 
himself  before  he  has  been  thrilled  with  indignation 
at  an  outrage,  or  has  heard  an  eloquent  tongue,  or 
has  shared  the  throb  of  thousands  in  a  national  exul 
tation  or  alarm  ?  No  man  can  antedate  his  experi 
ence,  or  guess  what  faculty  or  feeling  a  new  object 
shall  unlock,  any  more  than  he  can  draw  to-day  the 
face  of  a  person  whom  he  shall  see  to-morrow  for 
the  first  time. 

I  will  not  now  go  behind  the  general  statement  to 
explore  the  reason  of  this  correspondency.  Let  it 
suffice  that  in  the  light  of  these  two  facts,  namely, 
that  the  mind  is  One,  and  that  nature  is  its  correla 
tive,  history  is  to  be  read  and  written. 

Thus  in  all  ways  does  the  soul  concentrate  and 
reproduce  its  treasures  for  each  pupil.  He,  too, 
shall  pass  through  the  whole  cycle  of  experience. 
He  shall  collect  into  a  focus  the  rays  of  nature. 
History  no  longer  shall  be  a  dull  book.  It  shall 
incarnate  in  every  just  and  wise  man.  You 
shall  not  tell  me  by  languages  and  titles  a  catalogue 
of  the  volumes  you  have  read.  You  shall  make  me 
feel  what  periods  you  have  lived.  A  man  shall  be 
the  Temple  of  Fame.  He  shall  walk,  as  the  poets 
have  described  that  goddess,  in  a  robe  painted  all 
over  with  wonderful  events  and  experiences  ;  —  his 


HISTORY.  35 

own  form  and  features  by  their  exalted  intelligence 
shall  be  that  variegated  vest.  I  shall  find  in  him  the 
Foreworld  ;  in  his  childhood  the  Age  of  Gold  ;  the 
Apples  of  Knowledge  ;  the  Argonautic  Expedition  ; 
the  calling  of  Abraham  ;  the  building  of  the  Temple ; 
the  Advent  of  Christ  ;  Dark  Ages  ;  the  Revival  of 
Letters  ;  the  Reformation  ;  the  discovery  of  new 
lands  ;  the  opening  of  new  sciences,  and  new  regions 
in  man.  He  shall  be  the  priest  of  Pan,  and  bring 
with  him  into  humble  cottages  the  blessing  of  the 
morning  stars  and  all  the  recorded  benefits  of  heaven 
and  earth. 

Is  there  somewhat  overweening  in  this  claim  ? 
Then  I  reject  all  I  have  written,  for  what  is  the  use 
of  pretending  to  know  what  we  know  not  ?  But  it 
is  the  fault  of  our  rhetoric  that  we  cannot  strongly 
state  one  fact  without  seeming  to  belie  some  other. 
I  hold  our  actual  knowledge  very  cheap.  Hear  the 
rats  in  the  wall,  see  the  lizard  on  the  fence,  the  fungus 
under  foot,  the  lichen  on  the  log.  What  do  I  know 
sympathetically,  morally,  of  either  of  these  worlds 
of  life  ?  As  old  as  the  Caucasian  man,  —  perhaps 
older,  —  these  creatures  have  kept  their  counsel  be 
side  him,  and  there  is  no  record  of  any  word  or  sign 
that  has  passed  from  one  to  the  other.  What  con 
nection  do  the  books  show  between  the  fifty  or  sixty 
chemical  elements,  and  the  historical  eras  ?  Nay, 
what  does  history  yet  record  of  the  metaphysical 


36  ESSAY   I. 

annals  of  man  ?  What  light  does  it  shed  on  those 
mysteries  which  we  hide  under  the  names  Death  and 
Immortality  ?  Yet  every  history  should  be  written 
in  a  wisdom  which  divined  the  range  of  our  affinities 
and  looked  at  facts  as  symbols.  I  am  ashamed  to 
see  what  a  shallow  village  tale  our  so-called  History 
is.  How  many  times  we  must  say  Rome,  and 
Paris,  and  Constantinople  !  What  does  Rome  know 
of  rat  and  lizard  ?  What  are  Olympiads  and  Con 
sulates  to  these  neighbouring  systems  of  being  ? 
Nay,  what  food  or  experience  or  succour  have  they 
for  the  Esquimaux  seal-hunter,  for  the  Kanaka  in  his 
canoe,  for  the  fisherman,  the  stevedore,  the  porter  ? 
Broader  and  deeper  we  must  write  our  annals,  — 
from  an  ethical  reformation,  from  an  influx  of  the 
ever  new,  ever  sanative  conscience,  —  if  we  would 
trulier  express  our  central  and  wide-related  nature, 
instead  of  this  old  chronology  of  selfishness  and  pride 
to  which  wre  have  too  long  lent  our  eyes.  Already 
that  day  exists  for  us,  shines  in  on  us  at  unawares, 
but  the  path  of  science  and  of  letters  is  not  the  way 
into  nature.  The  idiot,  the  Indian,  the  child,  and 
unschooled  farmer's  boy,  stand  nearer  to  the  light  by 
which  nature  is  to  be  read,  than  the  dissector  or  the 
antiquarv. 


SELF-RELIANCE. 


"Ne  te  quaesiveris  extra." 


!  Man  is  his  own  star ;  and  the  soul  that  can 
Render  an  honest  and  a  perfect  man, 
Commands  all  light,  all  influence,  all  fate  ; 
Nothing  to  him  falls  early  or  too  late. 
Our  acts  our  angels  are,  or  good  or  ill, 
Our  fatal  shadows  that  walk  by  us  still." 

Epilogue  to  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  Honest  Man's  Fortune. 


Cast  the  bantling  on  the  rocks, 
Suckle  him  with  the  she-wolfs  teat ; 
Wintered  with  the  hawk  and  fox, 
Power  and  speed  be  hands  and  feet. 


ESSAY    II. 
SELF-REL  I  ANCE 


I  READ  the  other  day  some  verses  written  by  an 
eminent  painter  which  were  original  and  not  conven 
tional.  The  soul  always  hears  an  admonition  in  such 
lines,  let  the  subject  be  what  it  may.  The  sentiment 
they  instil  is  of  more  value  than  any  thought  they 
may  contain.  To  believe  your  own  thought,  to  be 
lieve  that  what  is  true  for  you  in  your  private  heart 
is  true  for  all  men,  —  that  is  genius.  Speak  your 
latent  conviction,  and  it  shall  be  the  universal  sense  ; 
for  the  inmost  in  due  time  becomes  the  outmost,  — , 
and  our  first  thought  is  rendered  back  to  us  by  the 
trumpets  of  the  Last  Judgment,  f  Familiar  as  the 
voice  of  the  mind  is  to  each,  the  highest  merit  we 
ascribe  to  Moses,  Plato,  and  Milton  is,  that  they  set 
at  naught  books  and  traditions,  and  spoke  not  what 
men  but  what  they  thought^  A  man  should  learn  to" 
detect  and  watch  that  gleam  of  light  which  flashes 
across  his  mind  from  within,  more  than  the  lustre  of 


40  ESSAY    II. 

the  firmament  of  bards  and  sages.  Yet  he  dismisses 
without  notice  his  thought,  because  it  is  his.  In 
every  work  of  genius  we  recognize  our  own  rejected 
thoughts  :  they  come  back  to  us  with  a  certain  alien 
ated  majesty.  Great  works  of  art  have  no  more 
affecting  lesson  for  us  than  this.  They  teach  us  to 
abide  by  our  spontaneous  impression  with  good-hu 
mored  inflexibility  then  most  when  the  whole  cry  of 
voices  is  on  the  other  side.  Else,  to-morrow  a 
stranger  will  say  with  masterly  good  sense  precisely 
what  we  have  thought  and  felt  all  the  time,  and  we 
shall  be  forced  to  take  with  shame  our  own  opinion 
from  another. 

There  is  a  time  in  every  man's  education  when  he 
arrives  at  the  conviction  that  envy  is  ignorance  ;  that 
imitation  is  suicide  ;  that  he  must  take  himself  for 
better,  for  worse,  as  his  portion  ;  that  though  the 
wide  universe  is  full  of  good,  no  kernel  of  nourishing 
corn  can  come  to  him  but  through  his  toil  bestowed 
on  that  plot  of  ground  which  is  given  to  him  to  till. 
The  power  which  resides  in  him  is  new  in  nature, 
and  none  but  he  knows  what  that  is  which  he  can  do, 
nor  does  he  know  until  he  has  tried.  Not  fop  noth 
ing  one  face,  one  character,  one  fact,  makes  .much 
impression  on  him,  and  another  none.  This  sculp 
ture  in  the  memory  is  not  without  preestablished 
harmony.  The  eye  was  placed  where  one  ray 
should  fall,  that  it  might  testify  of  that  particular  ray. 


SELF-RELIANCE.  41 

We  but  half  express  ourselves,  and  are  ashamed 
of  that  divine  idea  which  each  of  us  represents.  It 
may  be  safely  trusted  as  proportionate  and  of  good 
issues,  so  it  be  faithfully  imparted,  but  God  will  not 
have  his  work  made  manifest  by  cowards.  A  man 
is  relieved  and  gay  when  he  has  put  his  heart  into  his 
woxk-and  done  his  best ;  but  what  he  has  said  or 
done  otherwise,  shall  give  him  no  peace.  It  is  a  de 
liverance  which  does  not  deliver.  In  the  attempt  his 
genius  deserts  him  ;  no  muse  befriends  ;  no  inven- 
tion,  no  hope.  'fajtf  ^^  ?***  ^ty 
\  Trust  thyself:  every  heart  vibrates  to  that  iron 
string.  Accept  the  place  the  divine  providence  has 
found  for  you,  the  society  of  your  contemporaries, 
the  connection  of  events.  Great  men  have  always 
done  so,  and  confided  themselves  childlike  to  the 
genius  of  their  age,  betraying  their  perception  that 
the  absolutely  trustworthy  was  seated  at  their  heart, 
working  through  their  hands,  predominating  in  all 
their  being.  And  we  are  now  men,  and  must  ac 
cept  in  the  highest  mind  thesame  transcendent 
destiny  ;  and  not  minors  and  invalids  in  a  protect 
ed  corner,  not  cowards  fleeing  before  a  revolution, 
but  guides,  redeemers,  and  benefactors,  obeying 
the  Almighty  effort,  and  advancing  on  Chaos  and 
the  Dark. 

AJ^hat  pretty  oracles  nature  yields  us  on  this  text, 
in  the  face  and  behaviour  of  children,  babes,  and  even 


42  ESSAY    II. 

brutes  !  That  divided  and  rebel  mind,  that  distrust 
of  a  sentiment  because  our  arithmetic  has  computed 
the  strength  and  means  opposed  to  our  purpose,  these 
have  not.  Their  mind  being  whole,  their  eye  is  as 
yet  unconquered,  and  when  we  look  in  their  faces, 
we  are  disconcerted.  Infancy  conforms  to  nobody  : 
all  conform  to  it,  so  that  one  babe  commonly  makes 
four  or  five  out  of  the  adults  who  prattle  and  play  to 
it.  So  God  has  armed  youth  and  puberty  and  man- 
(hood  no  less  with  its  own  piquancy  and  charm,  and 
made  it  enviable  and  gracious  and  its  claims  not  to  be 
put  by,  if  it  will  stand  by  itself.  Do  not  think  the 
youth  has  no  force,  because  he  cannot  speak  to  you 
and  me.  Hark  !  in  the  next  room  his  voice  is  suffi 
ciently  clear  and  emphatic.  It  seems  he  knows  how  to 
speak  to  his  contemporaries.  Bashful  or  bold,  then, 
he  will  know  how  to  make  us  seniors  very  unneces 
sary. 

The  nonchalance  of  boys  who  are  sure  of  a  din 


ner,  and  would 'disjaain  as  much  as  a  lord  to  do  or 
say  aught  to  conciliate  one,  is  the  healthy  attitude  of 
human  nature.  A  boy' is  in  the  parlour  what  the  pit 
is  in  the  playhouse  ;  independent,  irresponsible,  look 
ing  out  from  his  corner  on  such  people  and  facts  as 
pass  by,  he  tries  and  sentences  them  on  their  merits, 
in  the  swift,  summary  way  of  boys,  as  good,  bad,  in 
teresting,  silly,  eloquent,  troublesome.  He  cumbers 
himself  never  about  consequences,  about  intercuts  . 


SELF-RELIANCE.  43 

he  gives  an  independent,  genuine  verdict.  You  must 
court  him  :  he  does  not  court  you.  But  the  man  is, 
as  it  were,  clapped  into  jail  by  his  consciousness. 
As  soon  as  he  has  once  acted  or  spoken  with  eclaUj 
he  is  a  committed  person,  watched  by  the  sympathy 
or  the  hatred  of  hundreds,  whose  affections  must  now 
enter  into  his  account.  There  is  no  Lethe  for  this. 
Ah,  that  he  could  pass  again  into  his  neutrality  ! 
Who  can  thus  avoid  all  pledges,  and  having  observed, 
observe  again  from  the  same  unaffected,  unbiased,  un- 
bribable,  unaffrighted  innocence,  must  always  be  for- 
jnidable.  He  would  utter  opinions  on  all  pass 
ing  affairs,  which  being  seen  to  be  not  private,  but 
necessary,  would  sink  like  darts  into  the  ear  of  men, 
and  put  them  in  fear. 

These  are  the  voices  which  we  hear  in  solitude, 
but  they-g-rew  faint  and  inaudible  ..as  we  enter  into  the 
world.  Society  everywnere  is  in  conspiracy  against 

v  the  manhood  of  every  one  of  its  members.  Socie 
ty  is  a  joint-stock  company,  in  which  the  members 
agree,  for  the  better  securing  of  his  bread  to  each 
shareholder,  to  surrender  the  liberty  and  culture  of 

i  the  eater.     The  virtue  in  most  request  is  conformity. 

;    Self-reliance  is  its  aversio^.     It  loves  not  realities 

|_jmd  creators,  but  narnes  and  customs, 
y  Whoso  would  be  a  man  must  be  a  nonc£nihr.mist. 
He  who  would  gather  immortal  palms  must  not  be 
hindered  by  the  name  of  goodness,  but  must  explore 


44  ESSAY   II. 

if  it  be  goodness.    J^othing  is  at  last-sacrejcLbiit  thg, 

Absolve  you  to  your 


self,  and  you  shall  have  the  suffrage  of  the  world.  I 
r^yrigmber  an  answer  which  when  quite  young  I  was 
prompted  to  make  to  a  valued  adviser,  who  was  wont 
to  importune  me  with  the  dear  old  doctrines  of  the 
church.  On  my  saying,  What  have  I  to  do  with 
the  sacredness  of  traditions,  if  I  -live  wholly  from 
within  ?  my  friend  suggested,  —  '  c  But  these  impulses 
may  be  from  below,  not  from  above."  I  replied, 
"  They  do  not  seem  to  me  to  be  such  ;  but  if  I  am 
the  Devil's  child,  I  will  live  then  from  the  Devil." 

^No  law  can  be  sacredto  me  but  that  of  my  nature. 
Good  and  bad  are  but  names  very  readily  transfera- 
ble  to  that  or  this  ;  the  only  right  is  what  is  after  my 
Constitution,  the  only  wrongf^vhat  is  against  it^-  A 

"man  is  to  carry  himself  in  trie  presence  of  all  opposi- 
tion,  as  if  every  thing  were  titular  and  ephemeral  but 
he.  I  am  ashamed  to  think  how  easily  we  capitu 
late  to  badges  and  names,  to  large  societies  and  dead 
institutions.  Every  decent  and  well-spoken  individ 
ual  affects  and  sways  me  more  than  is  right.  I 
ought  to  go  upright  and  vital,  and  speak  the  rude  truth 
in  all  ways.  If  malice  and  vanity  wear  the  coat  of 
philanthropy,  shall  that  pass  r  If  an  angry  bigot 
assumes  this  bountiful  cause  of  Abolition,  and  comes 
to  me  with  his  last  news  from  Barbadoes,  why  should 
I  not  say  to  him,  c  Go  love  thy  infant  ;  love  thy 


SELF-RELIANCE.  45 

wood-chopper  :  be  good-natured  and  modest :  have 
that  grace  ;  and  never  varnish  your  hard,  uncharita 
ble  ambition  with  this  incredible  tenderness  for  black 
folk  a  thousand  miles  off.  '  Thy  love  afar  is  spite  at 
home.'  Rough  and  graceless  would  be  such  greet 
ing,  but  Jruth  is  handsomer  than  the  affectation  of 
love.  Your  goodness  must  have  some  edge  to  it,  — 
else  it  is  none.  The  doctrine  of  hatred  must  be 
preached  as  the  counteraction  of  the  doctrine  of  love 
when  that  pules  and  whines.  I  shun  father  and 
mother  and  wife  and  brother,  wrhen  my  genius  calls 
me.  I  would  write  on  the  lintels  of  the  door-post, 
Whim.  I  hope  it  is  somewhat  better  than  whim  at 
last,  but  we  cannot  spend  the  day  in  explanation. 
Expect  me  not  to  show  cause  why  I  seek  or  why  I 
exclude  company.  /  Then,  again,  do  not  tell  me,  as 
a  good  man  did  to-day,  of  my  obligation  to  put  all 
poor  men  in  good  situations.  Are  they  my  poor  ? 
I  tell  thee,  thou  foolish  philanthropist,  that  I  grudge 
the  dollar,  the  dime,  the  cent,  I  give  to  such  men  as 
do  not  belong  to  me  and  to  whom  I  do  not  belong. 
There  is  a  class  of  persons  to  whom  by  all  spiritual 
affinity  I  am  bought  and  sold  ;  for  them  I  will  go  to 
prison,  if  need  be  ;  but  your  miscellaneous  popular 
charities  ;  the  education  at  college  of  fools  ;  the 
building  of  meeting-houses  to  the  vain  end  to  which 
many  now  stand  ;  alms  to  sots  ;  and  the  thousand 
fold  Relief  Societies  ;  —  though  I  confess  with  shame 


46  ESSAY    II. 

I  sometimes  succumb  and  give  the  dollar,  it  is  a 
wicked  dollar  which  by  and  by  I  shall  have  the  man 
hood  to  withold. 

Virtues  are,  in  the  popular  estimate,  rather  the  ex 
ception  than  the  rule.  There  is  the  man  and  his 
virtues.  Men  do  what  is  called  a  good  action,  as 
some  piece  of  courage  or  charity,  much  as  they 
would  pay  a  fine  in  expiation  of  daily  non-appear 
ance  on  parade.  Their  works  are  done  as  an  apol 
ogy  or  extenuation  of  their  living  in  the  world,  —  as 
invalids  and  the  insane  pay  a  high  board.  Their 
virtues  are  penances.  I  do  not  wish  to  expiate,  but 
to  live.  My  life  is  for  itself  and  not  for  a  spectacle. 
I  much  prefer  that  it  should  be  of  a  lower  strain,  so 
it  be  genuine  and  equal,  than  that  it  should  be  glit 
tering  and  unsteady.  I  wish  it  to  be  sound  and 
sweet,  and  not  to  need  diet  and  bleeding.  I  ask  pri 
mary  evidence  that  you  are  a  man,  and  refuse  this 
appeal  from  the  man  to  his  actions.  I  know  that  for 
myself  it  makes  no  difference  whether  I  do  or  for 
bear  those  actions  which  are  reckoned  excellent.  I 
cannot  consent  to  pay  for  a  privilege  where  I  have 
intrinsic  right.  Few  and  mean  as  my  gifts  may  be5 
I  actually  am,  and  do  not  need  for  my  own  assur 
ance  or  the  assurance  of  my  fellows  any  secondary 
testimony. 

What  I  must  do  is  all  that  concerns  me,  not  what 
the  people  think.  This  rule,  equally  arduous  in  actual 


SELF-RELIANCE.  47 

and  in  intellectual  life,  may  serve  for  the  whole  dis 
tinction  between  greatness  and  meanness.  It  is  the 
harder,  because  you  will  always  find  those  who  think 
they:  know  what  is  your  duty  better  than  you  know 
it.X^It  is  easy  in  the  world  to  live  after  the  world's 
opinion  ;  it  is  easy  in  solitude  to  live  after  our.  own  ; 
but  the  great  man  is  he  who  in  the  midst  of  the 
crowd  keeps  with  perfect  sweetness  the  independ 
ence  of  solitude.  1 

The  objection  to  conforming  to  usages  that  have 
become  dead  to  you  is,  that  it  scatters  your  force. 
It  loses  your  time  and  blurs  the  impression  of  your 
character.  If  you  maintain  a  dead  church,  con 
tribute  to  a  dead  Bible-society,  vote  with  a  great 
party  either  for  the  government  or  against  it,  spread 
your  table  like  base  housekeepers,  —  under  all  these 
screens  I  have  difficulty  to  detect  the  precise  man 
you  are.  And,  of  course,  so  much  force  is  with 
drawn  from  your  proper  life.  But  do  your  work, 
and  I  shall  know  you.  Do  your  work,  and  you 
shall  reinforce  yourself.  A  man  must  consider  what 
a  blindman's-buff  is  this  game  of  conformity.  If  I 
know  your  sect,  I  anticipate  your  argument.  I  hear 
a  preacher  announce  for  his  text  and  topic  the  expe 
diency  of  one  of  the. institutions  of  his  church.  Do 
I  not  know  beforehand  that  not  possibly  can  he  say 
a  new  and  spontaneous  word  ?  Do  I  not  know  that, 
with  all  this  ostentation  of  examining  the  grounds 


ESSAY   II. 


of  the  institution,  he  will  do  no  such  thing  ?  Do  I 
not  know  that  he  is  pledged  to  himself  not  to  look 
but  at  one  side,  —  the  permitted  side,  not  as  a  man, 
lout  as  a  parish  minister  ?  He  is  a  retained  attorney, 
and  these  airs  of  the  bench  are  the  emptiest  afrecta- 
tion.  Well,  most  men  have  bound  their  eyes  with 
one  or  another  handkerchief,  and  attached  them 
selves  to  some  one  of  these  communities  of  opinion. 
fT-his  r.onformky^makns  fern. not.  fr.1s.fi, in  a  few  par- 
pcjulars,,  authors  pf  a  few  lies,  but  false  in  all. partic 
ulars.  Their  every  truth  is  not  quite  true.  Their 
two  is  not  the  real  two,  their  four  not  the  real  four  ; 
so  that  every  word  they  say  chagrins  us,  and  we 
know  not  where  to  begin  to  set  them  right.  Mean 
time  nature  is  not  slow  to  equip  us  in  the  prison-uni 
form  of  the  party  to  which  we  adhere.  We  come 
to  wear  one  cut  of  face  and  figure,  and  acquire  by 
degrees  the  gentlest  asinine  expression.  There  is  a 
mortifying  experience  in  particular,  which  does  not 
fail  to  wreak  itself  also  in  the  general  history  ;  I 
mean  "  the  foolish  face-^f  praig<3j?>  the  forced  smile 
which  we  put  on  in  company  where  we  do  not  feel 
at  ease  in  answer  to  conversation  which  does  not  in 
terest  us.  The  muscles,  not  spontaneously  moved, 
but  moved  by  a  low  usurping  wilfulness,  grow  tight 
about  the  outline  of  the  face  with  the  most  disagree 
able  sensation. 

For  nonconformity  the  world  whips  you  with  its 


SELF-RELIANCE.  49 

displeasure.  And  therefore  a  man  must  know  how 
to  estimate  a  sour  face.  The  by-standers  look 
askance  on  him  in  the  public  street  or  in  the 
friend's  parlour.  If  this  aversation  had  its  origin 
in  contempt  and  resistance  like  his  own,  he  might 
well  go  home  with  a  sad  countenance  ;  but  the  sour 
faces  of  the  multitude,  like  their  sweet  faces,  have 
no  deep  cause,  but  are  put  on  and  off  as  the  wind  J/ 
blows  and  a  newspaper  directs.  Yet  is  the  discon-  r 
tent  of  the  multitude  more  formidable  than  that  of  the 
senate  and  the  college.  It  is  easy  enough  for  a  firm 
man  who  knows  the  world  to  brook  the  rage  of  the 
cultivated  classes.  Their  rage  is  decorous  and  pru 
dent,  for  they  are  timid  as  being  very  vulnerable 
themselves.  But  when  to  their  feminine  rage  the 
indignation  of  the  people  is  added,  when  the  igno 
rant  and  the  poor  are  aroused,  when  the  unintelligent 
brute  force  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  society  is  made 
to  growl  and  mow,  it  needs  the  habit  of  magnanimity 
and  religion  to  treat  it  godlike  as  a  trifle  of  no  con 
cernment. 

The  other  terror  that  scares  us  from  self-trust  is 
our  consistency  ;  a  reverence  for  our  past  act  or 
word,  because  the  eyes  of  others  have  no  other 
data  for  computing  our  orbit  than  our  past  acts,  and 
we  are  loath  to  disappoint  them. 

But  why  should  you  keep  your  head  over 
shoulder  ?     Why   drag   about   this   corpse  of 
4 


50  ESSAY   II. 

memory,  lest  you  contradict  somewhat  you  have 
stated  in  this  or  that  public  place  ?  Suppose  you 
should  contradict  yourself  ;  what  then  ?  It  seems  to 
be  a  rule  of  wisdom  never  to  rely  on  your  memory 
alone,  scarcely  even  in  acts  of  pure  memory,  but  to 
bring  the  past  for  judgment  into  the  thousand-eyed 
present,  and  live  ever  in  a  new  day.  In  your  meta 
physics  you  have  denied  personality  to  the  Deity  : 
yet  when  the  devout  motions  of  the  soul  come,  yield 
to  them  heart  and  life,  though  they  should  clothe 
God  with  shape  and  color.  Leave  your  theory,  as 
Joseph  his  coat  in  the  hand  of  the  harlot,  and  flee. 

A  foolish  consistency  is  the  hobgoblin  of  little 
jfninds,  adored  by  little  statesmen  and  philosophers 
and  divines.  With  consistency  a  great  soul  has  sim 
ply  nothing  to  do.  He  may  as  well  concern  himself 
with  his  shadow  on  the  wall.  Speak  what  you  think 
Sow^m  Jianl  words^  and  to-morrow^  speak  -what  to 
morrow  thinks  in  hard^wprds^j^ain^ thoudi  it  con 
tradict  every  thing  you  said  tp-_daj;.  — i  Ah,  so  you 
shall  be  sure  to  be  misunderstood.'  —  Is  it  so  bad, 
then,  to  be  misunderstood  ?  Pythagoras  was  misun 
derstood,  and  Socrates,  and  Jesus,  and  Luther,  and 
Copernicus,  and  Galileo,  and  Newton,  and  every  pure 
and  wise  spirit  that  ever  took  flesh.  To  be  great  is 
to  be  misunderstood.  -V* 

A,     I  suppose  no  man  can  violate  his  nature.     All  the 
sallies  of  his  will  are  rounded  in  by  the  law  of  his  be- 


SELF-RELIANCE.  51 

ing,  as  the  inequalities  of  Andes  and  Himmaleh  are 
insignificant  in  the  curve  of  the  sphere.  Nor  does  it 
matter  how  you  gauge  and  try  him.  ^A  character  is 
like  an  acrostic  or  Alexandrian  stanza  ;  —  read  it  for 
ward,  backward,  or  across,  it  still  spells  the  same 
thing.  In  this  pleasing,  contrite  wood-life  which  God 
allows  me,  let  me  record  day  by  day  my  honest 
thought  without  prospect  or  retrospect,  and,  I  cannot 
doubt,  it  will  be  found  symmetrical,  though  I  mean 
it  not,  and  see  it  not.  My  book  should  smell  of 
pines  and  resound  with  the  hum  of  insects.  The 
swallow  over  my  window  should  interweave  that 
thread  or  straw  he  carries  in  his  bill  into  my  web 
also,  ffie  pass  for  wjiaLwe  are.  Character  teaches 
above  our  wills.  Men  imagine  that  they  communi- 
pate  their  virtue  or  vice  only  by  overt  actions,  and 
do  not  see  that  virtue  or  vice  emit. a. 1 
jjaoment.- 

There  will  be  an  agreement  in  whatevpr^variety 
of  actions,  so  they  be  each  honest  aera  natural  in 
their  hour.  For  of  one  will,  the  actions  will  be  har 
monious,  however  unlike  they  seem.  These  varieties 
are  lost  sight  of  at  a  little  distance,  at  a  little  height 
of  thought.  One  tendency  unites  them  all.  The 
voyage  of  the  best  ship  is  a  zigzag  line  of  a  hundred 
tacks.  See  the  line  from  a  sufficient  distance,  and 
it  straightens  itself  to  the  average  tendency.  Your 
genuine  action  will  explain  itself,  and  will  explain 


_ 

ESSAY   II. 

other  genuine  actions.  Your  conformity  ex 
plains  nothing.  Act  singly,  and  what  you  have  al 
ready  done  singly  will  justify  you  now.  ~ 


the  future.     If  I  can  be  firm  enough  to 


I  day  to  do  right,  and  scorn  eyes,  I  must  have  done 
so  much  right  before  as  to  defend  me  now.  Be  it 
how  it  will,  do  right  now.  Always  scorn  appear 
ances,  and  you  always  may.  TJie  fnrrp  of  rViavartpr 

is  cumulative .  Adi  the  foregone  days  of  virtue  work 
their  health  into  ^s.  What  makes  the  majesty  of 
the  heroes  of  the  senate  and  the  field,  which  so  fills 
the  imagination  ?  The  consciousness  of  a  train  of 
.,  great  days  and  victories  behind.  They  shed  an 
united  light  on  the  advancing  actor.  He  is-  attended 
as  by  a  visible  escort  of  angels.  That  is  it  which 
throws  thunder  into  Chatham's  voice,  and  dignity  into 
Washington's  port,  and  America  into  Adams's  eye. 
HDnQ_nis.jvfin arable  to.ijs  because  j.t.jff.fl"  epjbemeris. 
%  It  is  always  ancient  virtue.  We  wQjrsfrjip  it  to-day 
because  it  is  not  of  to-day.  We  love  it  and  pay  it 
A  homage,  because  it  is  not  a  trap  for  our  Jove  and 
homage,  but  is  self-dependent,  self-derived,  and  there 
fore  of  an  old  immaculate  pedigree,  even  if  shown  in 
a^young  person. 

T  hope  in  these  days  we  have  heard  the  last  of; 
conformity  and  consistency.  Let  the  words  be  ga 
zetted  and  ridiculous  henceforward.  Instead  of  the 
gong  for  dinner,  let  us  hear  a  whistle  from  the  Spar- 


c; 


SELF-RELIANCE.  53 

tan  fife.  Let  us  never  bow  and  apologize  more.  A 
great  man  is  coming  to  eat  at  my  house.  I  do  not 
wish  to  please  him  ;  I  wish  that  he  should  wish  to 
please  me.  I  will  stand  here  for  humanity,  and 
though  I  would  make  it  kind,  I  would  make  it  true. 
Let  us  affront  and  reprimand  the  smooth  mediocrity 
and  squali4  contentment  of  the  times,  and  hurl  in  the 
face  of  custom,  and  trade,  and  office,  the  fact  which 
is  the  upshot  of  all  history^  that  there  is  a  great  re- 
sponsible  Thinker  and  Actor  working  wherever  .a  man 
worl^,4Jial^.jtrue_.man_b.elpngs  to  no  other  time  or. 
place,  but  is  tho  centre  of  tliin^^^Whe^^  there 

is-nature.     He  measures  you,  and  all  men,  and  all 
events,    j^rdinarily,  every  body  in  society  remii 
of  somewhat  else,  or  of  some  other  pers< 

s  you  of  nothing  elsej  it  takes 


place  of  the  whole  creation.  The  man  must  be  so 
much,  that  he  must  make  all  circumstances  indifferent. 
Every  true  man  is  a  cause,  a  country,  and  an  age  ; 
requires  infinite  spaces  and  numbers  and  time  fully 
to  accomplish  his  design  ;  —  and  posterity  seem  to 
follow  his  steps  as  a  train  of  clients.  A  man  Caesar 
is  born,  and  for  ages  after  we  have  a  Roman  Em 
pire.  Christ  is  born,  and  millions  of  minds  so  grow 
and  cleave  to  his  genius,  that  he  is  confounded  with 
virtue  and  the  possible  of  man.  An  institution  is  the 
lengthened  shadow  of  one  man  ;  as,  Monachism,  of 
he  Hermit  Antony  ;  the  Reformation,  of  Luther  ; 


54  ESSAY   II. 

Quakerism,  of  Fox  ;  Methodism,  of  Wesley  ;  Abo 
lition,  of  Clarkson.  Si|ipio,  Milton  called  u  the 
height  of  Rome  "  ;  and  all  history  resolves  itself  very 
easily  into  the  biography  of  a  few  stout  and  earnest 
(persons.  1^4-  VM^  **^  ©£•  H*~«»^MJ 
r  Let  a  man  then  know  his  worth,  and  keep  things 
under  his  feet.  Let  him  not  peep  or  steal,  or  skulk 
up  and  down  with  the  air  of  a  charity-boy,  a  bastard, 
or  an  interloper,  in  the  world  which  exists  for  him. 
But  the  man  in  the  street,  rinding  no  worth  in  himself 
which  corresponds  to  the  force  which  built  a  tower 
or  sculptured  a  marble  god,  feels  poor  when  he  looks 
on  these.  To  him  a  palace,  a  statue,  or  a  costly 
book  have  an  alien  and  forbidding  air,  much  like  a 
gay  eqaipage,  and  seem  to  say  like  that,  '  Who  are 
you,  Sir  ? '  Yet  they  all  are  his,  suitors  for  his  no 
tice,  petitioners  to  his  faculties  that  they  will  come 
out  and  take  possession.  The  picture  waits  for  my 
verdict  :  it  is  not  to  command  me,  but  I  am  to  settle 
its  claims  to  praise.  That  popular  fable  of  the  sot 
who  was  picked  up  dead  drunk  in  the  street,  carried 
to  the  duke's  house,  washed  and  dressed  and  laid  in 
the  duke's  bed,  and,  on  his  waking,  treated  with  all 
obsequious  ceremony  like  the  duke,  and  assured  that 
he  had  been  insane,  owes  its  popularity  to  the  fact, 
that  it  symbolizes  so  well  the  state  of  man,  who  is  in 
the  world  a  sort  of  sot,  but  now  and  then  wakes 
up,  exercises  his  reason,  and  finds  himself  a  r  I. 
prince. 


• 


Our  reading  is  mendicant  and  sycophantic.  In 
history,  our  imagination  plays  us  false.  Kingdom 
and  lordship,  power  and  estate,  are  a  gaudier  vocabu 
lary  than  private  John  and  Edward  in  a  small  house 
and  common  day's  work  ;  but  the  things  of  life  are 
the  same  to  both;  the  sum  total  of  both  is  the  same. 
Why  all  this  deference  to  Alfred,  and  Scanderbeg, 
and  Gustavus  ?  Suppose  they  were  virtuous  ;  did 
they  wear  out  virtue  ?  As  great  a  stake  depends  on 
your  private  act  to-day,  as  followed  their  public  and 
renowned  steps.  When  private  men  shall  act  with 
original  views,  the  lustre  will  be  transferred  from  the 
actions  of  kings  to  those  of  gentlemen. 
}  The  world  has  been  instructed  by  its  kings,  who 

.have  so  magnetized  the  eyes  of  nations.  It  has 
been  taught  by  this  colossal  symbol  the  mutual  rever 
ence  that  is  due  from  man  to  man.  The  joyful  loy 
alty  with  which  men  have  everywhere  suffered  the 
king,  the  noble,  or  the  great  proprietor  to  walk  among 
them  by  a  law  of  his  own,  make  his  own  scale  of 
men  and  things,  and  reverse  theirs,  pay  for  benefits 
not  with  money  but  with  honor,  and  represent  the 
law  in  his  person,  was  the  hieroglyphic  by  which 
they  fVhsr.iirp.1y  sigpififirl  fhp.ir  r.nnsr.iniifinftss  of.t.hfiir 
own  right  and  comeliness,  the  right  of  every  man. 

;,  \  The  magnetism  which  all  original  action  exerts  is 
explained  when  we  inquire  the  reason  of  self-trust. 
\Vho  is  the  Trustee  ?  What  is  the  aboriginal  Self, 


56  ESSAY   II. 

on  which  a  universal  reliance  may  be  grounded  ? 
What  is  the  nature  and  power  of  that  science-baffling 
star,  without  parallax,  without  calculable  elements, 
which  shoots  a  ray  of  beauty  even  into  trivial  and  im 
pure  actions,  if  the  least  mark  of  independence  ap 
pear?  The  inquiry  leads  us  to  that  source,  at  once 
the  essence  of  genius,  of  virtue,  and  of  life,  which 
we  call  Spontaneity  or  Instinct.  We  denote  this  pri 
mary  wisdom  as  Intuition,  whilst  all  later  teachings 
are  tuitions.  In  that  deep  force,  the  last  fact  behind 
which  analysis  cannot  go,  all  things  find  their  com 
mon  origin.  For,  the  sense  of  being  which  in  calm 
hours  rises,  we  know  not  how,  in  the  soul,  is  not 
diverse  from  things,  from  space,  from  light,  from  time, 
from  man,  but  one  with  them,  and  proceeds  obvious 
ly  from  the  same  source  whence  their  life  and  being 
also  proceed.  We  first,  sharp  the  life  by  which  things 
.exist,  and  afterwards  see  them  as  appearances  in  na 
ture,  and  forget  that  we  have  shared  their  cause. 
Here  is  the  fountain  of  action  and  of  thought.  Here 
are  the  lungs  of  that  inspiration  which  giveth  man  wis 
dom,  and  which  cannot  be  denied  without  impiety  and 
atheism.  We  lie  in  the  lap-  of  immense  intelligence, 
of  its  truth  and  organs  of  its 


When  we  discern  justice,  when  we  discern 
truth,  we  do  nothing  of  ourselves,  but  allow  a  passage 
to  its  beams.  If4we  ask  whence  this  comes,  if  we 
seek  to  pry  into  the  soul  that  causes,  all  philosophy 


SELF-RELIANCE.  57 

is  at  fault.  Its  presence  or  its  absence  is  all  we  can 
affirm.  Every  man  discriminates  between  the  volun 
tary  acts  of  his  mind,  and  his  involuntary  per 
ceptions,  and  knows  that  to  his  involuntary  percep 
tions  a  perfect  faith  is  due.  He  may  err  in  the 
expression  of  them,  but  he  knows  that  these  things 
are  so,  like  day  and  night,  not  to  be  disputed.  My 
wilful  actions  and  acquisitions  are  but  roving  ;  —  the 
idlest  reverie,  the  faintest  native  emotion,  command 
my  curiosity  and  respect.  Thoughtless  people  con- 
tradict  as  readily  the  statement  of  perceptions  as  of 
opinions,  or  rather  much  more  readily;  fnr}  they  ./in 
not  distinguish  between  perception  and  notion.  They 
fancy  that  I  choose  to  see  this  or  that  thing.  But 
perception  is  not  whimsical,  but  fatal.  If  I  see  a 
trait,  my  children  will  see  it  after  me,  and  in  course 
of  time,  all  mankind,  — although  it  may  chance  that 
no  one  has  seen  it  before  me.  For  my  perception 
of  it  is  as  much  a  fact  as  the  SWB*- 

The  relations  of  the  soul  to  the  divine  spirit  are  so 
*  pure,  that  it  is  profane  to  seek  to  interpose  helps.  It 
must  be  that  when  God  speaketh  he  should  commu 
nicate,  not  one  thing,  but  all  things  ;  should  fill  the 
world  with  his  voice  ;  should  scatter  forth  light,  na 
ture,  time,  souls,  from  the  centre  of  the  present 
thought ;  and  new  date  and  new  create  the  whole. 
Whenever  a  mind  is  simple,  and,  receives  a  divine 
wisdom,  old  things  pass  away, — means,  teachers. 


58  ESSAY   II. 

texts,  temples  fall  ;  it  lives  now,  and  absorbs  past  an  j 

future  into  the  present Jhour-^^All  things  are  made 
sacred  by  relation  to  it,  — —  one  as  much  as  another. 
All  things  are  dissolved  to  their  centre  by  their  cause, 
and,  in  the  universal  miracle,  petty  and  particular  mir 
acles  disappear.  If,  therefore,  a  man  claims  to  know 
and  speak  of  God,  and  carries  you  backward  to  the 
phraseology  of  some  old  mouldered  nation  in  anoth 
er  country,  in  another  wrorld,  believe  him  not.  Is 
the  acorn  better  than  the  oak  which  is  its  fulness  and 
completion  ?  Is  the  parent  better  than  the  child 
into  whom  he  has  cast  his  ripened  being  ?  Whence, 
then,  this  worship  of  the  past  ?  The 


conspirators  against,  .the  sanity  .  ^nduauthority  of  the 
souL^  Tira6  and  .space  ar,e  foitf.  pfoysiologicraJL^coJors 

which  the  eye  makes,  but  the  soul  is  light  ;  where 
it  is,  is  day  ;  where  it  was,  is  night  ;  and  history 
is  an  impertinence  and  an  injury,  if  it  be  any  thing 
more  than  a  cheerful  apologue  or  parable  of  my 


being  and  becoming, 
-Marfis-  timfe  and  apologetic  ;  he  is  no  longer  up- 


right  ;  he  dares  not  say  {I  think,'  (I  am,'  but 
quotes  some  saint  or  sage.  He  is  ashamed  before 
the  blade  of  grass  or  the  blowing  rose.  These 
roses  under  my  window;  make  no  reference  to  for 
mer  roses  or  to  better  ones  ;  they  are  for  what  they 
are  ;  they  exist  with  God  to-day.  There  is  no  time 
to  them.  \There  is  simply  the  rose  ;  it  is  perfect  in 


SELF-RELIANCE.  59 

^ 

every  moment  of  its  existence.  Before  a  leaf-bud 
has  burst,  its  whole  life  acts  ;  in  the  full-blown  flow 
er  there  is  no  more  ;  in  the  leafless  root  there  is  no 
less.  Its  nature  is  satisfied,  and  it  satisfies  nature, 
in  all  moments  alike.  But  man  postpones  or  re 
members  ;  he  does  not  live  in  the  present,  but  with 
reverted  eye  laments  the  past,  or,  heedless  of  the 

•  riches  that  surround  him,  stands  on  titpoe  to  foresee 
the  future.     He  cannot  be  happy  and  strong  until  he 
too  lives  wiih  nature  in  the  present,  above  -time. 
This    should   be    plain   enough.       Yet   see    what 

/  strong  intellects  dare  not  yet  hear  God  himself, 
unless  he  speak  the  phraseology  of  I  know  not 
what  David,  or  Jeremiah,  or  Paul.  We  shall  not 
always  set  so  great  a  price  on  a  few  texts,  on  a  few 
lives.  We  are  like  children  who  repeat  by  rote 
the  sentences  of  gran  dames  and  tutors,  and,  as  they 
grow  older,  of  the  men  of  talents  and  character  they 
chance  to  see,  —  painfully  recollecting  the  exact 
words  they  spoke  ;  afterwards,  when  they  come 
into  the  point  of  view  which  those  had  who  uttered 
these  sayings,  they  understand  t^eni^  and  are  willing 
to  let  the  wom|^^o  :iorT  at  any  time,  they  can  use 
words  as  good  when  occasion  comes.  If  we  live 
truly,  we  shall  see  truly.  It  is  as  easy  for  the  strong 
man  to  be  strong,  as  it  is  for  the  weak  to  be  weak. 
When  we  have  new  perception,  we  shall  gladly 
disburden  the  memory  of  its  hoarded  treasures  as 


60  ESSAY    II. 

old  rubbish.  When  a  man  lives  with  God,  his  voice 
shall  be  as  sweet  as  the  murmur  of  the  brook  and 
the  rustle  of  the  corn. 

And  now  at  last  the  highest  truth  on  this  subject 
remains  unsaid  ;    probably  cannot  be  said ;   for  all 

that   we   say  is   thp   far-off _  jpyripm'hpring'-  of  ,ths  .TOtU- 

Jition.  That  thought,  by  what  I  can  now  nearest 
approach  to  say  it,  is  this.  When  good  is  near  you, 
when  you  have  life  in  yourself,  it  is  not  by  any 
known  or  accustomed  way  ;  you  shall  not  discern 
the  foot-prints  of  any  other  ;  you  shall  not  see  the 
face  of  man ;  you  shall  not  hear  any  name  ;  — 
the  way,  -the  thought,  the  good,  shall  be  wholly 
strange  and  new.  It  shall  exclude  example  and 
experience.  /You  take  the  way  from  man,  not  to 
man.  All  persons  that  ever  existed  are  its  forgot 
ten  ministers.  Fear  and  hope  are  alike  beneath  it. 
There  is  somewhat  low  even  in  hope.  In  the  hour 
of  vision,  there  is  nothing  that  can  be  called  grat 
itude,  nor  properly  joy.  The  soul  raised  over 
passion  beholds  identity  and  eternal  causation,  per 
ceives  the  self-existence  of  Truth  and  Right,  and 
calms  itself  with  knowing  that  all  things  go  well. 
Vast  spaces  of  nature,  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  the  South 
Sea, — long  intervals  of  lime,  years,  centuries,  —  are 
of  no  account.  vThis  which  I  think  and  feel  underlay 
every  former  state  of  life  and  circumstances,  as  it 
does  underlie  my  present,  and  what  is  called  life, 
and  what  is  called  death. 


•;• 


SELF-RELIANCE.  61 


Life  only  avails,  not  the  having  lived.  Power 
ceases  in  the  instant  of  repose  ;  it  resides  in  the 
moment  of  transition  from  a  past  to  a  new  state, 
in  the  shooting  of  the  gulf,  in  the  darting  to  an  aim. 
This  one  fact  the  world  hates,  that  the  soul  .be^ 
comes ;  for  that  for  ever  degrades  the  past,  turns 
all  riches  to  poverty,  all  reputation  to  a  shame,  con 
founds  the  saint  with  the  rogue,  shoves  Jesus  and 
Judas  equally  aside.  Why,  then,  do  we  prate  of 
self-reliance  ?  Inasmuch  as  the  soul  is  present, 
there  will  be  power  not  confident  but  agent.  To 
talk  of  reliance  is  a  poor  external  way  of  speak 
ing.  Speak  rather  of  that  which  relies,  because  it 
works  and  is.  Who  has  more  obedience  than  I 
masters  me,  though  he  should  not  raise  his  finger. 
Round  him  I  must  revolve  by  the  gravitation  of 
spirits.  We  fancy  it  rhetoric,  when  we  speak  of 
eminent  virtue.  We  do  not  yet  see  that  virtue  is 
Height,  and  that  a  man  or  a  company  of  men,  plastic 
and  permeable  to  principles,  by  the  law  of  nature 
must  overpower  and  ride  all  cities,  nations,  kings, 
rich  men,  poets,  who  are  not. 

This  is  the  ultimate  fact  which  we  so  quickly 
reach  on  this,  as  on  every  topic,  the  resolution  of  all 
into  the  ever-blessed  ONE.  Self-existence  is  the  at 
tribute  of  the  Supreme  Cause,  and  it  constitutes  the 
measure  of  good  by  the  degree  in  which  it  enters  in 
to  all  lower  forms.  All  things  real  are  so  by  so  much 


62  ESSAY   II. 

virtue  as  they  contain.  Commerce,  husbandry, 
hunting,  whaling,  war,  eloquence,  personal  weight, 
are  somewhat,  and  engage  my  respect  as  examples 
of  its  presence  and  impure  action.  I  see  the  same 
law  working  in  nature  for  conservation  and  growth. 
Power  is  in  nature  the  essential  measure  of  right. 
Nature  suffers  nothing  to  remain  in  her  kingdoms 
which  cannot  help  itself.  The  genesis  and  matura 
tion  of  a  planet,  its  poise  and  orbit,  the  bended  tree 
recovering  itself  from  -the  strong  wind,  the  vital 
resources  of  every  animal  and  vegetable,  are  dem 
onstrations  of  the  self-sufficing,  and  therefore  self- 
relying  soul. 

Thus  all  concentrates  :  let  us  not  rove  ;  let  us 
sit  at  home  with  the  cause.  Let  us  stun  and  aston 
ish  the  intruding  rabble  of  men  and  books  and  insti 
tutions,  by  a  simple  declaration  of  the  divine  fact. 
Bid  the  invaders  take  the  shoes  from  off  their  feet,  for 
God  is  here  within.  Let  our  simplicity  judge  them, 
and  our  docility  to  our  own  law  demonstrate  the  pov 
erty  of  nature  and  fortune  beside  our  native  riches. 

But  now  we  are  a  mob.  Man  does  not  stand  in 
awe  of  man,  nor  is  his  genius  admonished  to  stay  at 
home,  to  put  itself  in  communication  with  the  inter 
nal  ocean,  but  it  goes  abroad  to  beg  a  cup  of  water 
of  the  urns  of  other  men.  We  must  go  alone.  I 
like  the  silent  church  before  the  service  begins,  bet 
ter  than  any  preaching.  How  far  off,  how  cool,  how 


SELF-RELIANCE.  63 

chaste  the  persons  look,  begirt  each  one  with  a  pre 
cinct  or  sanctuary  !    So  let  ujLalwjavjLaJL.— Why  should 
we  assume  the  faults  of  our  friend,  or  wife,  or  fa 
ther,  or  child,  because  they  sit  around  our  hearth,  or 
are  said  to  have  the  same  blood  ?     All  men  have  niy/-  .">; 
blood,  and  I  have  all  men's.     Not  for  that  will  Is? 
adopt  their*  petulance  or  folly,  even  to  the   extent 
of  being  ashamed   of  it.     "Rut  your  isolation   must 
not  be  mechanicala_Jb«t---spiritual,   that  is,  must  be 
elevatioa^----^rrTimes  the  whole  world  seems  to  be 
in  conspiracy  to  importune  you  with  emphatic  tri 
fles.       Friend,   client,   child,    sickness,    fear,   want, 
charity,  all  knock  at  once  at  thy  closet  door,  and 
say,  —  'Come  out  unto  us.'     But  keep  thy  state; 
come  not   into   their   confusion.     The    power  men 
possess  to  annoy  me,  I  give  them  by  a  weak  curios-  - 
ity.     No  man   can  come  near  me  but  through  my 
act.     "  What  we  Jove  that  we  have,  but  by  desire  ! 
we  bereave  ourselves  of  the  love." 

If  we  cannot  at  once  rise  to  the  sanctities  of  obe 
dience  and  faith,  let  us  at  least  resist  our  temptations  ; 
let  us  enter  into  the  state  of  war,  and  wake  Thor 
and  Woden,  courage  and  constancy,  in  our  Saxon 
breasts.  This  is  to  be  done  in  our  smooth  times  by 
speaking  the  truth.  Check  this  lying  hospitality  and 
lying  affection.  Live  no  longer  to  the  expectation  of 
these  deceived  and  deceiving  people  writh  whom  we 
converse.  Say  to  them,  O  father,  O  mother,  O 

%  ->c^v^r    >  C 
iJ 


64  ESSAY   II. 

wife,  O  brother,  O  friend,  I  have  lived  with  you 
after  appearances  hitherto.  Henceforward  I  am  the 
v  truth's.  Be  it  known  unto  you  that  henceforward 
I  obey  no  law  less  than  the  eternal  law.  I  will  have 
no  covenants  but  proximities.  I  shall  endeavour  to 
nourish  my  parents,  to  support  my  family,  to  be  the 
chaste  husband  of  one  wife,  —  but  these  relations  I 
must  fill  after  a  new  and  unprecedented  way.  I  ap 
peal  from  your  customs.  I  must  be  myself.  I  cannot 
break  myself  any  longer  for  you,  oTyou.  If  you  can 
love  me  for  what  I  am,  we  shall  be  the  happier.  If 
you  cannot,  I  will  still  seek  to  deserve  that  you 
should.  I  will  not  hide  my^tastes  or  aversions.  I 
will  so  trustlEaT  wBaUs  deep  is  holy,  that  I  will  do 
strongly  before  the  sun  and  moon  whatever  inly  re 
joices  me,  and  the  heart  appoints.  If  you  are  noble, 
I  will  love  you  ;  if  you  are  not,  I  will  not  hurt  you 
and  myself  by  hypocritical  attentions.  If  you  are 
true,  but  not  in  the  same  truth  with  me,  cleave  to 
your  companions  ;  I  will  seek  my  own.  I  do  this  not 
selfishly,  but  humbly  and  truly.  It  is  alike  your  in 
terest,  and  mine,  and  all  men's,  however  long  we  have 
dwelt  in  lies,  to  live  in  truth.  Does  this  sound  harsh 
to-day  ?  You  will  soon  love  what  is  dictated  by 
your  nature  as  well  as  mine,  and,  if  we  follow  the 
truth,  itwill  bring  us  out  safe  at  last.  —  But  so  you 
may  give  these  friends  pain.  Yes,  but  I  cannot  sell 
my  liberty  and  my  power,  to  save  their  sensibility. 


SELF-RELIANCE.  65 

Besides,  all  persons  have  their  moments  of  reason, 
when  they  look  out  into  the  region  of  absolute  truth  ; 
then  will  they  justify  n?e,  and  do  the  same  thing. 

The  populace  think  that  your  rejection  of  popular 
standards  is  a  rejection  of  all  standard,  and  mere 
antinomianism  ;  and  the  bold  sensualist  will  use  the 
name  of  philosophy  to  gild  his  crimes.  But  the  law 
of  consciousness  abides.  There  are  two  confession 
als,  in  one  or  the  other  of  which  we  must  be  shriven. 
You  may  fulfil  your  round  of  duties  by  clearing  your 
self  in  the  direct,  or  in  the  reflex  way.  Consider 
whether  you  have  satisfied  your  relations  to  father, 
mother,  cousin,  neighbour,  town,  cat,  and  dog  ; 
whether  any  of  these  can  upbraid  you.  But  I  may 
also  neglect  this  reflex  standard,  and  absolve  me  to 
myself.  I  have  my  own  stern  claims  and  perfect  cir 
cle.  It  denies  the  name  of  duty  to  many  offices  that 
are  called  duties.  But  if  I  can  discharge  its  debts,  it 
enables  me  to  dispense  with  the  popular  code.  If 
any  one  imagines  that  this  law  is  lax,  let  him  keep 
its  commandment  one  day. 

And  truly  it  demands  something  godlike  in  him 
who  has  cast  off  the  common  motives  of  humanity, 
and  has  ventured  to  trust  himself  for  a  taskmaster. 
High  be  his  heart,  faithful  his  will,  clear  his  sight, 
that  he  may  in  good  earnest  be  doctrine,  society,  law, 
to  himself,  that  a  simple  purpose  may  be  to  him  as 
strong 


66  ESSAY   II. 

If  any  man  consider  the  present  aspects  of  what 
is  called  by  distinction  society,  he  will  see  the  need 
of  these  ethics.  The  sinew  and  heart  of  man  seem 
to  be  drawn  out,  and  we  are  become  timorous,  de 
sponding  whimperers.  We  are  afraid  of  truth,  afraid 
of  fortune,  afraid  of  death,  and  afraid  of  each  other. 
Our  age  yields  no  great  and  perfect  persons.  We 
want  men  and  women  who  shall  renovate  life  and  our 
social  state,  but  we  see  that  most  natures  are  insol 
vent,  cannot  satisfy  their  own  wants,  have  an  am 
bition  out  of  all  proportion  to  their  practical  force, 
and  do  lean  and  beg  day  and  night  continually.  Our 
housekeeping  is  mendicant,  our  arts,  our  occupa 
tions,  our  marriages,  our  religion,  we  have  not  cho 
sen,  but  society  has  chosen  for  us.  We^ja 


We  shun  the  rugged  battle  of  fate,  where 
strength  is  born. 

Tf  our  young  men  miscarry  in  their  first  enterprises, 
they  lose  all  heart.  If  the  young  merchant  fails,  men 
say  he  is  ruined.  If  the  finest  genius  studies  at  one 
of  our  colleges,  and  is  not  installed  in  an  office  within 
one  year  afterwards  in  the  cities  or  suburbs  of  Bos 
ton  or  New  York,  it  seems  to  his  friends  and  to 
himself  that  he  is  right  in  being  disheartened,  and  in 
complaining  the  rest  of  his  life.  A  sturdy  lad  from 
New  Hampshire  or  Vermont,  who  in  turn  tries  all 
the  professions,  who  teams  it,  farms  it,  peddles,  keeps 
a  school,  preaches,  edits  a  newspaper,  goes  to  Con- 


SELF-RELIANCE.  67 

gress,  buys  a  township,  and  so  forth,  in  successive 
years,  and  always,  like  a  cat,  falls  on  his  feet,  is 
worth  a  hundred  of  these  city  dolls.  He  walks 
abreast  with  his  days,  and  feels  no  shame  in  not 
c  studying  a  profession,'  for  he  does  not  postpone  his, 
life>  but  lives  already.^  He  has  not  one  chance,  but  a 
hundred  chances.  Let  a  Stoic  open  the  resources  of 
man,  and  tell  men  they  are  not  leaning  willows,  but 
can  and  must  detach  themselves  ;  that  with  the  exer 
cise  of  self-trust,  new  powers  shall  appear ;  that  a 
man  is  the  word  made  flesh,  born  to  shed  healing  to 
the  nations,  that  he  should  be  ashamed  of  our  com 
passion,  and  that  the  moment  he  acts  from  himself, 
tossing  the  laws,  the  books,  idolatries,  and  customs 
out  of  the  window,  we  pity  him  no  more,  but  thank 
and  revere  him,  —  and  that  teacher  shall  restore  the 
life  of  man  to  splendor,  and  make  his  name  dear  to 
all  history. 

f£flt  is  easy  to  see  that  a  greater  self-reliance 
must  work  a  revolution  in  all  the  offices  and  rela 
tions  of  men  ;  in  their  religion  ;  in  their  education  ; 
in  their  pursuits  ;  their  modes  of  living  ;  their  asso 
ciation  ;  in  their  property  ;  in  their  speculative 
views. 

1 .  In  what  prayers  do  men  allow  themselves  ! 
That  which  they  call  a  holy  office  is  not  so  much  as 
brave  and  manly.  Prayer  looks  abroad  and  asks  for 
some  foreign  addition  to  come  through  some  foreign 


ESSAY    II. 


virtue,  and  loses  itself  in  endless  mazes  of  natural 
and  supernatural,  and  mediatorial  and  miraculous. 
Prayer  that  craves  a  particular  commodity,  —  any 
;  thing  less  than  all  good,  —  is  vicious.  Prayer  is  the 
contemplation  of  the  facts  of  life  from  the  highest 
point  of  view.  It  is  the  soliloquy  of  a  beholding  and 
jubilant  soul.  It  is  the  spirit  of  God  pronouncing 
his  works  good.  But  prayer  as  a  means  to  effect  a 
private  end  is  meanness  and  theft.  It  supposes  du 
alism  and  not  unity  in  nature  and  consciousness.  As 
soon  as  the  man  is  at  one  with  God,  he  will  not  beg. 
He  will  then  see  prayer  in  all  action.  The  prayer 
of  the  farmer  kneeling  in  his  field  to  weed  it,  the 
prayer  of  the  rower  kneeling  with  the  stroke  of  his 
oar,  are  true  prayers  heard  throughout  nature,  though 
for  cheap  ends.^  Caratach,  in  Fletcher's  Bonduoa, 
when  admonished  to  inquire  the  mind  of  the  god  Au- 
date,  replies,  — 

"  His  hidden  meaning  lies  in  our  endeavours  ; 
Our  valors  are  our  best  gods." 

Another  sort  of  false  prayers  are  our  regrets. 
Hisjiontent  is  the  want  of  self-reliance  :  it  is  infirm 
ity  of  will.  Regret  .calamities,  if  you  can  thereby 
help  the  sufferer  ;  if  not,  attend  your  own  work,  and 
already  the  evil  begins  to  be  repaired.  Our  sympa 
thy  is  just  as  base.  We  come  to  them  who  weep 
foolishly,  and  sit  down  and  cry  for  company,  instead 
ol  imparting  to  them  truth  and  health  in  rough  elec- 


SELF-RELIANCE.  69 

e  shocks  ,  putting;  the  m.  once  more  in  communicatioa 
The  secret_of_fortune.is  joy 


in  our  hands.  \VelcQm(j  evermore  t.n  gods  and  ine-n- 
is  the  self-helping  man..  For  him  all  doors  are  flung 
wide  :  him  all  tongues  greet,  all  honors  crown,  all 
eyes  follow  with  desire.  Our  love  goes  out  to  him 
and  embraces  him,  because  he  did  not  need  it-  We 
solicitously  and  apologetically  caress  and  celebrate 
him,  because  he  held  on  his  way  and  scorned  our 
disapprobation.  The  gods  love  him  because  men 
hated  him.  u  To  the  persevering  mortal,"  said  Zo 
roaster,  "  the  blessed  Immortals  are  swift." 

\s  men's  prayers  are  a  disease  of  the  will,  so  are 
their  creeds  a  disease  of  the  intellect*.  They  say 
with  those  foolish  Israelites,  c  Let  not  God  speak  to 
us,  lest  we  die.  Speak  thou,  speak  any  man  with 
us,  and  we  will  obey.'  Everywhere  I  am  hindered 
of  meeting  God  in  my  brother,  because  he  has  shut 
his  own  temple  doors,  and  recites  fables  merely  of 
his  brother's,  or  his  brother's  brother's  God.  _Ex&? 
ry  new  mind  is  a  pew^las.s.ificatinn-  If  it  prove  a 
mind  of  uncommon  activity  and  power,  a  Locke,  a 
Lavoisier,  ,a  Hutton,  a  Bentham,  a  Fourier,  it  im 
poses  its  classification  on  other  men,  and  lo  !  a  new 
system.  In  proportion  to  the  depth  of  the  thought, 
and  so  to  the  number  of  .  the  objects  it  touches  awl 
brings  within  reach  of  the  pupil,  is  his  complacency. 
But  chiefly  is  this  apparent  in  creeds  and  churches, 


70 


ESSAY    II. 


which  are  also  classifications  of  some  powerful  mind 
acting  on  the  elemental  thought  of  duty,  and  man's 
relation  to  the  Highest.  Such  is  Calvinism,  Qua 
kerism,  Swedenborgism.  The  pupil  takes  the  same 
delight  in  subordinating  every  thing  to  the  new  ter 
minology,  as  a  girl  who  has  just  learned  botany  in 
seeing  a  new  earth  and  new  seasons  thereby.  It  will 
happen  for  a  time,  that  the  pupil  will  find  his  intel 
lectual  power  has  grown  by  the  study  of  his  master's 
mind.  But  in  all  unbalanced  minds,  the  classifica 
tion  is  idolized,  passes  for  the  end,  and  not  for  a 
speedily  exhaustible  means,  so  that  the  walls  of  the 
system  blend  to  their  eye  in  the  remote  horizon  with 
the  walls  of  the  universe  ;  the  luminaries  of  heaven 
seem  to  them  hung  on  the  arch  their  master  built. 
They  cannot  imagine  how  you  aliens  have  any  right 
to  see,  —  how  you  can  see ;  c  It  must  be  somehow 
that  you  stole  the  light  from  us.'  They  do  not  yet 
perceive,  that  light,  unsystematic,  indomitable,  will 
break  into  any  cabin,  even  into  theirs.  Let  them 
chirp  awhile  and  call  it  their  own.  If  they  are  hon 
est  and  do  well,  presently  their  neat  new  pinfold  will 
be  too  strait  and  low,  will  crack,  will  lean,  will  rot 
and  vanish,  and  the  immortal  light,  all  young  and 
joyful,  million-orbed,  million-colored,  will  beam  over 
the  universe  as  on  the  first  morning. 

2.  It  is  for  want  of  self-culture  that  the  supersti 
tion  of  Travelling,  whose  idols  are  Italy,  England, 


SELF-RELIANCE.  71 

Egypt,  retains  its  fascination  for  all  educated  Ameri 
cans.  They  who  made  England,  Italy,  or  Greece 
venerable  in  the  imagination  did  so  by  sticking  fast 
where  they  were,  like  an  axis  of  the  earth.  In  man 
ly  hours,  we  feel  that  duty  is  our  place.  The  soul  is 
no  traveller  ;  the  wise  man  stays  at  home,  and  when 
his  necessities,  his  duties,  on  any  occasion  call 
him  from  his  house,  or  into  foreign  lands,  he  is 
at  home  still,  and  shall  make  men  sensible  by  the 
expression  of  his  countenance,  that  he  goes  the  mis 
sionary  of  wisdom  and  virtue,  and  visits  cities  and 
men  like  a  sovereign,  and  not  like  an  interloper  or  a 
valet. 

v^  I  have  no  churlish  objection  to  the  circumnaviga 
tion  of  the  globe,  for  the  purposes  of  art,  of  study, 
and  benevolence,  so  that  the  man  is  first  domesti 
cated,  or  does  not  go  abroad  with  the  hope  of  find 
ing  somewhat  greater  than  he  knows.  He  who 
travels,  to.  be  ,,amus,ed>  or  .to.  gat,  somewhat,  which  h^ 
(foes  not  carry,  travels  away  from  himself,  and  grows 
old  even  in  youth  among  old  things.  In  Thebes, 
in  Palmyra,  his  will  and  mind  have  become  old  and 
dilapidated  as  they.  He  carries  Tuins  tof  ruins. 

Travelling  is  a  fool's  paradise.  Our  first  jour 
neys  discover  to  us  the  indifference  of  places.  At 
home  I  dream  that  at  Naples,  at  Rome,  I  can  be 
intoxicated  with  beauty,  and  lose  my  sadness.  I 
pack  my  trunk,  embrace  my  friends,  embark  on  the 


72  ESSAY   II. 

sea,  and  at  last  wake  up  in  Naples,  and  there  beside 
me  is  the  stern  fact,  the  .  sad  self,  unrelenting, 
identical,  that  I  fled  from.  I  seek  the  Vatican, 
and  the  palaces.  I  affect  to  be  intoxicated  with 
sights  and  suggestions,  but  I  am  not  intoxicated. 
My  giant  goes  with  me  wherever  I  go. 

3.  ffrHt  thfi  ragfi  of  travftllj|p^i§_gL_gjmi^tnm  of  a 
deeper  unsoundness  affecting  the  whole  intellectual 
action.  The  intellect  is  vagabond,,  and  our  system 
of  education  fosters  restlessness.  Our  minds  travel 
when  our  bodies  are  forced  to  stay  at  home.  We 
imitate^  and  what  is  imitation  but  the  travelling  of  the 
mind  ?  Our  houses  are  built  with  foreign  taste  ;  our 
shelves  are  garnished  with  foreign  ornaments  ;  our 
opinions,  our  tastes,  our  faculties,  lean,  and  follow 
the  Past  and  the  Distant.  The  soul  created  the 
arts  wherever  they  have  flourished.  It  was  in  his 
own  mind  that  the  artist  sought  his  model.  It  was 
an  application  of  his  own  thought  to  the  thing  to 
be  done  and  the  conditions  to  be  observed.  And 
why  need  we  copy  the  Doric  or  the  Gothic  mod 
el  ?  Beauty,  convenience,  grandeur  of  thought,  and 
'  quaint  expression  are  as  near  to  us  as  to  any,  and 
if  the  American  artist  will  study  with  hope  and  love 
the  precise  thing  to  be  done  by  him,  considering  the 
climate,  the  soil,  the  length  of  the  day,  the  wants 
of  the  people,  the  habit  and  form  of  the  govern 
ment,  he  will  create  a  house  in  which  all  these  will 


SELF-RELIANCE.  73 

find  themselves  fitted,  and  taste  and  sentiment  will 
be  satisfied  also. 

Insist  on  yourself ;  never  imitate.  Your  own 
gift  you  can  present  every  moment  with  the  cumu 
lative  force  of  a  whole  life's  cultivation  ;  but  of  the 
adopted  talent  of  another,  you  have,  only  an  extem 
poraneous,  half  possession.1  That  which  each  can 
do  best,  none  but  his  Maker  can  teach  him.  No 
man  yet  knows  what  it  is,  nor  can,  till  that  person 
has  exhibited  it.  Where  is  the  master  who  could 
have  taught  Shakspeare  ?  Where  is  the  master  who 
could  have  instructed  Franklin,  or 'Washington,  or 
^Sacon,  or  Newton  ?  Every  great  man  is  a  unique. 
The  Scipionism  of  Scipio  is  precisely  that  part  he 
could  not  borrow.  Shakspeare  will  never  be  made 
by  the  study  of  Shakspeare.  Do  that  which  is  as 
signed  you,  and  you  cannot  hope  too  much  or  dare 
too  much.  There  is  at  this  moment  for  you  an  ut 
terance  brave  and  grand  as  that  of  the  colossal  chisel 
of  Phidias,  or  trowel  of  the  Egyptians,  or  the  pen 
of  Moses,  or  Dante,  but  different  from  all  these. 
Not  possibly  will  the  soul  all  rich,  all  eloquent,  with 
thousand-cloven  tongue,  deign  to  repeat  itself;  but 
if  you  can  hear  what  these  patriarchs  say,  surely 
you  can  reply  to  them  in  the  same  pitch  of  voice  ; 
for  the  ear  and  the  tongue  are  two  organs  of  one 
nature.  Abide  in  the  simple  and  noble  regions  of  ' 
thy  life,  obey  thy  heart,  and  thou  shalt  reproduce 
the  Fore  world  again. 


74  ESSAY    II. 

4.  As  our  Religion,  our  Education,  our  Art  look 
abroad,  so  does  our  spirit  of  society.  All  men 
plume  themselves  on  the  improvement  of  society, 
and  no  man  improves. 

Society  never  advances.  It  recedes  as  fast  on  one 
side  as  it  gains  on  the  other.  It  undergoes  continu 
al  chaqges ;  it  is  barbarous,  it  is  civilized,  it  is  chris 
tianized,  it  is  rich,  it  is  scientific  ;  but  this  change 
is  not  amelioration.  For  every  thing  that  is  given, 
something  is  taken.  Society  acquires  new  arts,  and 
loses  old  instincts^  What  a  contrast  between  the 
well-clad,  reading,  writing,  thinking  American,  with 
a  watch,  a  pencil,  and  a  bill  of  exchange  in  his 
pocket,  and  the  naked  New  Zealander,  whose  prop 
erty  is  a  club,  a  spear,  a  mat,  and  an  undivided 
twentieth  of  a  shed  to  sleep  under  !  But  compare 
the  health  of  the  two  men,  and  you  shall  see  that 
the  white  man  has  lost  his  aboriginal  strength.  If 
the  traveller  tell  us  truly,  strike  the  savage  with  a 
broad  axe,  and  in  a  day  or  two  the  flesh  shall  unite 
and  heal  as  if  you  struck  the  blow  into  soft  pitch, 
and  the  same  blow  shall  send  the  white  to  his  grave. 

The  civilized  man  has  built  a  coach',  but  has  lost 
the  use  of  his  feet.  He  is  supported  on  crutches, 
but  lacks  so  much  supportof  muscle.  He  has  a 
fine  Geneva  watch,  but  he  fails  of  the  skill  to  tell  the 
hour  by  the  sun.  A  Greenwich  nautical  almanac 
he  has,  and  so  being  sure  of  the  information  when 


SELF-RELIANCE.  75 

he  wants  it,  the  man  in  the  street  does  not  know  a 
star  in  the  sky.  The  solstice  he  does  not  observe  ; 
the  equinox  he  knows  as  little  ;  and  the  whole  bright 
calendar  of  the  year  is  without  a  dial  in  his  mind. 
His  note-books  impair  his  memory  ;  his  libraries 
overload  his  wit ;  the  insurance-office  increases  the 
number  of  accidents  ;  and  it  may  be  a  question 
whether  machinery  does  not  encumber  ;  whether  we 
have  not  lost  by  refinement  some  energy,  by  a 
Christianity  entrenched  in  establishments  and  forms, 
some  vigor  of  wild  virtue.  For  every  Stoic  was 
a  Stoic  ;  but  in  Christendom  where  is  the  Chris 
tian  ? 

rhere  is  no  more  deviation  in  the  moral  standard 
than  in  the  standard  of  height  or  bulk.  No  greater 
men  are  now  than  ever  were.  A  singular  equality 
may  be  observed  between  the  great  men  of  the  first 
and  of  the  last  ages  ;  nor  can  all  the  science,  art, 
religion,  and  philosophy  of  the  nineteenth  century 
avail  to  educate  greater  men  than  Plutarch's  heroes, 
three  or  four  and  twenty  centuries  ago.  Not  in 
time  is  the  race  progressive.  Phocion,  Socrates, 
Anaxagoras,  Diogenes,  are  great  men,  but  they 
leave  no  class.  He  who  is  really  of  their  class 
will  not  be  called  by  their  name,  but  will  be  his 
own  man,  and,  in  his  turn,  the  founder  of  a  sect. 
The  arts  and  inventions  of  each  period  are  only 
its  costume,  and  do  not  invigorate  men.  The 


76  ESSAY   II. 

harm  of  the  improved  machinery  may  compensate 
its  good.  Hudson  and  Behring  accomplished  so 
much  in  their  fishing-boats,  as  to  astonish  Parry 
and  Franklin,  whose  equipment  exhausted  the  re 
sources  of  science  and  art.  Galileo,  with  an  opera- 
glass,  discovered  a  more  splendid  series  of  celestial 
phenomena  than  any  one  since.  Columbus  found 
the  New  World  in  an  undecked  boat.  It  is  curious 
to  see  the  periodical  disuse  and  perishing  of  means 
and  machinery,  which  were  introduced  with  loud 
laudation  a  few  years  or  centuries  before.  The 
great  genius  returns  to  essential  man.  We  reckoned 
the  improvements  of  the  art  of  war  among  the  tri 
umphs  of  science,  and  yet  Napoleon  conquered 
Europe  by  the  bivouac,  which  consisted  of  falling 
back  on  naked  valor,  and  disencumbering  it  of  all 
aids.  The  Emperor  held  it  impossible  to  make  a 
perfect  army,  says  Las  Casas,  "  without  abolishing 
our  arms,  magazines,  commissaries,  and  carriages, 
until,  in  imitation  of  the  Roman  custom,  the  soldier 
should  receive  his  supply  of  corn,  grind  it  in  his 
hand-mill,  and  bake  his  bread  himself." 

Society  is  a  wave.  The  wave  moves  onward, 
but  the  water  of  which  it  is  composed  does  not. 
The  same  particle  does  not  rise  from  the  valley  to 
the  ridge.  Its  unity  is  only  phenomenal.  The 
persons  who  make  up  a  nation  to-day,  next  year  die, 
and  their  experience  with  them. 


' 

SELF-RELIANCE.  77 

And  so  the  reliance  on  Property,  including  the 
reliance  on  governments  which  protect  it,  is  the  want 
of  self-reliance.  Men  have  looked  away  from  them 
selves  and  at  things  so  long,  that  they  have  come  to 
esteem  the  religious,  learned,  and,,cjyil  institutions  as 
guards  of  property,  and  they  deprecate  assaults  on 
these,  because  they  feel  them  to  be  assaults  on  prop 
erty.  They  measure  their  esteem  of  each  other  by 
what  each  has,  and  not  by  what  each  is.  But  a 
cultivated  man  becomes  ashamed  of  his  property, 
out  of  new  respect  for  his  nature.  Especially  he 
hates  what  he  has,  if  he  see  that  it  is  accidental,  — 
came  to  him  by  inheritance,  or  gift,  or  crime  ;  then 
he  feels  that  it  is  not  having  ;  it  does  not  belong  to 
him,  has  no  root  in  him,  and  merely  lies  there,  be 
cause  no  revolution  or  no  robber  takes  it  away.  But 
that  which  a  man  is  does  always  by  necessity  acquire, 
and  what  the  man  acquires  is  living  property,  which 
does  not  wait  the  beck  of  rulers,  or  mobs,  or  revolu 
tions,  or  fire,  or  storm,  or  bankruptcies,  but  perpetually 
renews  itself  wherever  the  man  breathes.  "  Thy  lot 
or  portion  of  life,"  said  the  Caliph  All,  "  is  seeking 
after  thee  ;  therefore  be  at  rest  from  seeking  after 
it."  Our  dependence  on  these  foreign  goods  leads 
us  to  our  slavish  respect  for  numbers.  The  political 
parties  meet  in  numerous  conventions  ;  the  greater 
the  concourse,  and  with  each  new  uproar  of  an 
nouncement,  The  delegation  from  Essex  !  The 


78  ESSAY   II. 

Democrats  from  New  Hampshire  !  The  Whigs  of 
Maine  !  the  young  patriot  feels  himself  stronger  than 
before  by  a  new  thousand  of  eyes  and  arms.  In  like 
manner  the  reformers  summon  conventions,  and  vote 
and  resolve  in  multitude.  Not  so,  O  friends  !  will 
the  God  deign  to  enter  and  inhabit  you,  but  by  a 
method  precisely  the  reverse.  It  is  only'as  a  man 
puts  off  all  foreign  support,  and  stands  alone,  that  I 
see  him  to  be  strong  and  to  prevail.  He  is  weaker 
by  every  recruit  to  his  banner.  Is  not  a  man  better 
than  a  town  ?  Ask  nothing  of  men,  and  in  the  end 
less  mutation,  thou  only  firm  column  must  presently 
appear  the  upholder  of  all  that  surrounds  thee.(  He 
who  knows  that  power  is  inborn,  that  he  is  weak 
because  he  has  looked  for  good  out  of  him  and  else 
where,  and  so  perceiving,  throws  himself  unhesitat 
ingly  on  his  thought,  instantly  rights  himself,  stands 
in  the  erect  position,  commands  his  limbs,  works 
miracles  ;  just  as  a  man  who  stands  on  his  feet  is 
stronger  than  a  man  who  stands  on  his  head. 

So  use  all  that  is  called  Fortune.  Most  men 
gamble  with  her,  and  gain  all,  and  lose  all,  as  her 
wheel  rolls.  But  do  thou  leave  as  unlawful  these 
winnings,  and  deal  with  Cause  and  Effect,  the  chan 
cellors  of  God.  In  the  Will  work  and  acquire,  and 
thou  hast  chained  the  wheel  of  Chance,  and  shalt 
sit  hereafter  out  of  fear  from  her  rotations.  A  politi 
cal  victory,  a  rise  of  rents,  the  recovery  of  your  sick, 


SELF-RELIANCE.  79 

or  the  return  of  your  absent  friend,  or  some  other 
favorable  event,  raises  your  spirits,  and  you  think 
good  days  are  preparing  for  you.  Do  not  believe 
it.  Nothing  can  bring  you  peace  but  yourself.; 
Nothing  can  bring  you  peace  but  the  triumph  of 
principles. 


COMPENSATION. 


The  wings  of  Time  are  black  and  white, 
Pied  with  morning  and  with  night. 
Mountain  tall  and  ocean  deep 
Trembling  balance  duly  keep. 
In  changing  moon,  in  tidal  wave, 
Glows  the  feud  of  Want  and  Have. 
Gauge  of  more  and  less  through  space 
Electric  star  and  pencil  plays. 
The  lonely  Earth  amid  the  balls 
That  hurry  through  the  eternal  halls, 
A  makeweight  flying  to  the  void, 
Supplemental  asteroid, 
Or  compensatory  spark, 
Shoots  across  the  neutral  Dark. 


Man  's  the  elm,  and  Wealth  the  vine ; 
Stanch  and  strong  the  tendrils  twine  : 
Though  the  frail  ringlets  thee  deceive, 
None  from  its  stock  that  vine  can  reave. 
Fear  not,  then,  thou  child  infirm, 
There  's  no  god  dare  wrong  a  worm. 
Laurel  crowns  cleave  to  deserts, 
And  power  to  him  who  power  exerts  ; 
Hast  not  thy  share  ?     On  winged  feet, 
Lo  !  it  rushes  thee  to  meet ; 
And  all  that  Nature  made  thy  own, 
Floating  in  air  or  pent  in  stone, 
Will  rive  the  hills  and  swim  the  sea, 
And,  like  thy  shadow,  follow  thee. 


ESSAY   III. 
COMPENSATION 


JEvER  since  I  was  a  boy,  I  have  wished  to  write  a 
discourse  on  Compensation  :  for  it  seemed  to  me 
when  very  young,  that  on  this  subject  life  was 
ahead  of  theology,  and  the  people  knew  more  than 
the  preachers  taught.  The  documents,  too,  from 
which  the  doctrine  is  to  be  drawn,  charmed  my  fan 
cy  by  their  endless  variety,  and  lay  always  before 
me,  even  in  sleep  ;  for  they  are  the  tools  in  our 
hands,  the  bread  in  our  basket,  the  transactions  of 
the  street,  the  farm,  and  the  dwelling-house,  greetings, 
relations,  debts  and  credits,  the  influence  of  charac 
ter,  the  nature  and  endowment  of  all  men.  It  seem 
ed  to  me,  also,  that  in  it  might  be  shown  men  a  ray  of 
divinity,  the  present  action  of  the  soul  of  this  world, 
clean  from  all  vestige  of  tradition,  and  so  the  heart 
of  man  might  be  bathed  by  an  inundation  of  eternal 
love,  conversing  with  that  which  he  knows  was  al 
ways  and  always  must  be,  because  it  really  is  now. 


84  ESSAY    III. 

It  appeared,  moreover,  that  if  this  doctrine  could  be 
stated  in  terms  with  any  resemblance  to  those  bright 
intuitions  in  which  this  truth  is  sometimes  revealed  to 
us,  it  would  be  a  star  in  many  dark  hours  and  crook 
ed  passages  in  our  journey  that  would  not  suffer  us 
to  lose  our  way. 

I  was  lately  confirmed  in  these  desires  by  hearing 
a  sermon  at  church.  The  preacher,  a  man  esteemed 
for  his  orthodoxy,  unfolded  in  the  ordinary  manner  the 
doctrine  of  the  Last  'Judgment.  He  assumed,  that 
judgment  is  not  executed  in  this  world  ;  that  the 
wicked  are  successful  ;  that  the  good  are  miserable  ; 
and  then  urged  from  reason  and  from  Scripture  a 
compensation  to  be  made  to  both  parties  in  the  next 
life.  No  offence  appeared  to  be  taken  by  the  con 
gregation  at  this  doctrine.  As  far  as  I  could  ob 
serve,  when  the  meeting  broke  up,  they  separated 
without  remark  on  the  sermon. 

Yet  what  was  the  import  of  this  teaching  ?  What 
did  the  preacher  mean  by  saying  that  the  good  are 
miserable  in  the  present  life  ?  Was  it  that  houses 
and  lands,  offices,  wine,  horses,  dress,  luxury,  are 
had  by  unprincipled  men,  whilst  the  saints  are  poor 
and  despised  ;  and  that  a  compensation  is  to  be  made 
to  these  last  hereafter,  by  giving  them  the  like  grati 
fications  another  day,  —  bank-stock  and  doubloons, 
venison  and  champagne  ?  This  must  be  the  compen 
sation  intended  ;  for  what  else  ?  Is  it  that  they  are 


COMPENSATION.  85 

to  have  leave  to  pray  and  praise  ?  to  love  and  serve 
men  ?  Why,  that  they  can  do  now.  The  legitimate 
inference  the  disciple  would  draw  was,  — c  We  axe 
to  have  such  a  good  time  as  the  sinners  have  now  '  ; 
—  or,  to  push  it  to  its  extreme  import,  — '  You  sin 
now  ;  we  shall  sin  by  and  by  ;  we  would  sin  now,  if 
we  could  ;  not  being  successful,  we  expect  our  re 
venge  to-morrow.' 

The  fallacy  lay  in  the  immense  concession,  that 
the  bad  are  successful  ;  that  justice  is  not  done  now. 
The  blindness  of  the  preacher  consisted  in  deferring 
to  the  base  estimate  of  the  market  of  what  consti 
tutes  a  manly  success,  instead  of  confronting  and  con 
victing  the  world  from  the  truth ;  announcing  the 
presence  of  the  soul  ;  the  omnipotence  of  the  will : 
and  so  establishing  the  standard  of  good  and  ill,  of^ 
success  and  falsehood. 

I  find  a  similar  base  tone  in  the  popular  religious 
works  of  the  day,  and  the  same  doctrines  assumed 
by  the  literary  men  when  occasionally  they  treat  the 
related  topics.  I  think  that  our  popular  theology 
has  gained  in  decorum,  and  not  in  principle,  over  the 
superstitions  it  has  displaced.  But  men  are  better 
than  this  theology.  Their  daily  life  gives  it  the  lie. 
Every  ingenuous  and  aspiring  soul  leaves  the  doc 
trine  behind  him  in  his  own  -experience  ;  and  all  men 
feel  sometimes  the  falsehood  which  they  cannot  de 
monstrate.  For  men  are  wiser  than  they  know. 


86  ESSAY   III. 

That  which  they  hear  in  schools  and  pulpits  without 
afterthought,  if  said  in  conversation,  would  probably 
be  questioned  in  silence.  If  a  man  dogmatize  in  a 
mixed  company  on  Providence  and  the  divine  laws, 
he  is  answered  by  a  silence  which  conveys  well 
enough  to  an  observer  the  dissatisfaction  of  the  hear 
er,  but  his  incapacity  to  make  his  own  statement. 

I  shall  attempt  in  this  and  the  following  chapter  to 
record  some  facts  that  indicate  the  path  of  the  law 
of  Compensation  ;  happy  beyond  my  expectation, 
if  I  shall  truly  draw  the  smallest  arc  of  this  circle. 

POLARITY,  or  action  and  reaction,  we  meet  in  ev 
ery  part  of  nature  ;  in  darkness  and  light  ;  in  heat 
and  cold  ;  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  waters  ;  in  male 
and  female  ;  in  the  inspiration  and  expiration  of  plants 
and  animals  ;  in  the  equation  of  quantity  and  quality 
in  the  fluids  of  the  animal  body  ;  in  the  systole  and 
diastole  of  the  heart  ;  in  the  undulations  of  fluids, 
and  of  sound  ;  in  the  centrifugal  and  centripetal  grav 
ity  ;  in  electricity,  galvanism,  and  chemical  affinity. 
Superinduce  magnetism  at  one  end  of  a  needle  ; 
the  opposite  magnetism  takes  place  at  the  other  end. 
If  the  south  attracts,  the  north  repels.  To  empty 
here,  you  must  condense  there.  An  inevitable  dual 
ism  bisects  nature,  so  that  each  thing  is  a  half,  and 
suggests  another  thing  to  make  it  whole  ;  as,  spirit, 
matter  ;  man,  woman  ;  odd,  even  ;  subjective,  ob- 


COMPENSATION.  87 

jective  ;  in,  out  ;  upper,  under  ;  motion,  rest  ;  yea, 
nay. 

Whilst  the  world  is  thus  dual,  so  is  every  one  of 
its  parts.  The  entire  system  of  things  gets  repre 
sented  in  every  particle.  There  is  somewhat  that 
resembles  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea,  day  and  night, 
man  and  woman,  in  a  single  needle  of  the  pine,  in  a 
kernel  of  corn,  in  each  individual  of  every  animal 
tribe.  The  reaction,  so  grand  in  the  elements,  is  re 
peated  within  these  small  boundaries.  For  example, 
in  the  animal  kingdom  the  physiologist  has  observed 
that  no  creatures  are  favorites,  but  a  certain  compen 
sation  balances  every  gift  and  every  defect.  A  sur 
plusage  given  to  one  part  is  paid  out  of  a  reduction 
from  another  part  of  the  same  creature.  If  the  head 
and  neck  are  enlarged,  the  trunk  and  extremities  are 
cut  short. 

The  theory  of  the  mechanic  forces  is  another  ex 
ample.  What  we  gain  in  power  is  lost  in  time  ;  and 
the  converse.  The  periodic  or  compensating  errors 
of  the  planets  is  another  instance.  The  influences 
of  climate  and  soil  in  political  history  are  another. 
The  cold  climate  invigorates.  The  barren  soil  does 
not  breed  fevers,  crocodiles,  tigers,  or  scorpions. 

The  same  dualism  underlies  the  nature  and  con 
dition  of  man.  Every  excess  causes  a  defect  ;  every 
defect  an  excess.  Every  sweet  hath  its  sour  ;  every 
evil  its  good.  Every  faculty  which  is  a  receiver  of 


88  ESSAY    III. 

pleasure  has  an  equal  penalty  put  on  its  abuse.  It 
is  to  answer  for  its  moderation  with  its  life.  For 
every  grain  of  wit  there  is  a  grain  of  folly.  Fox  eve 
ry  thing  you  have  missed,  you  have  gained  something 
else  ;  and  for  every  thing  you  gain,  you  lose  some 
thing.  If  riches  increase,  they  are  increased  that  use 
them.  If  the  gatherer  gathers  too  much,  nature 
takes  out  of  the  man  what  she  puts  into  his  chest  ; 
swells  the  estate,  but  kills  the  owner.  Nature  hates 
monopolies  and  exceptions.  The  waves  of  the  sea 
do  not  more  speedily  seek  a  level  from  their  loftiest 
tossing,  than  the  varieties  of  condition  tend  to  equal 
ize  themselves.  There  is  always  some  levelling 
circumstance  that  puts  down  the  overbearing,  the 
strong,  the  rich,  the  fortunate,  substantially  on  the 
same  ground  with  all  others.  Is  a  man  too  strong 
and  fierce  for  society,  and  by  temper  and  position  a 
Dad  citizen,  —  a  morose  ruffian,  with  a  dash  of  the 
pirate  in  him  ;  —  nature  sends  him  a  troop  of  pretty 
sons  and  daughters,  who  are  getting  along  in  the 
dame's  classes  at  the  village  school,  and  love  and 
fear  for  them  smooths  his  grim  scowl  to  courtesy. 
Thus  she  contrives  to  intenerate  the  granite  and  fel 
spar,  takes  the  boar  out  and  puts  the  lamb  in,  and 
keeps  her  balance  true. 

The  farmer  imagines  power  and  place  are  fine 
things.  But  the  President  has  paid  dear  for  his 
White  House.  It  has  commonly  cost  him  all  his 


COMPENSATION.  89 

peace,  and  the  best  of  his  manly  attributes.  To 
preserve  for  a  short  time  so  conspicuous  an  appear 
ance  before  the  world,  he  is  content  to  eat  dust  be 
fore  the  real  masters  who  stand  erect  behind  the 
throne.  Or,  do  men  desire  the  more  substantial  and 
permanent  grandeur  of  genius  ?  Neither  has  this  an 
immunity.  He  who  by  force  of  will  or  of  thought  is 
great,  and  overlooks  thousands,  has  the  charges  of 
that  eminence.  With  every  influx  of  light  comes 
new  danger.  Has  he  light  ?  he  must  bear  witness 
to  the  light,  and  always  outrun  that  sympathy  which 
gives  him  such  keen  satisfaction,  by  his  fidelity  to 
new  revelations  of  the  incessant  soul.  He  must  hate 
father  and  mother,  wife  and  child.  Has  he  all  that 
the  world  loves  and  admires  and  covets  ?  —  he  must 
cast  behind  him  their  admiration,  and  afflict  them  by 
faithfulness  to  his  truth,  and  become  a  byword  and  a 
hissing. 

This  law  writes  the  laws  of  cities  and  nations.  It 
is  in  vain  to  build  or  plot  or  combine  against  it. 
Things  refuse  to  be  mismanaged  long.  Res  nolunl 
diu  male  administrari.  Though  no  checks  to  a  new 
evil  appear,  the  checks  exist,  and  will  appear.  If 
the  government  is  cruel,  the  governor's  life  is  not 
safe.  If  you  tax  too  high,  the  revenue  will  yield  noth 
ing.  If  you  make  the  criminal  code  sanguinary,  ju 
ries  will  not  convict.  If  the  law  is  too  mild,  private 
vengeance  comes  in.  If  the  government  is  a  terrific 


90  ESSAY    III. 

democracy,  the  pressure  is  resisted  by  an  over 
charge  of  energy  in  the  citizen,  and  life  glows  with 
a  fiercer  flame.  The  true  life  and  satisfactions 
of  man  seem  to  elude  the  utmost  rigors  or  felicities 
of  condition,  and  to  establish  themselves  with  great 
indifferency  under  all  varieties  of  circumstances.  Un 
der  all  governments  the  influence  of  character  re 
mains  the  same,  —  in  Turkey  and  in  New  England 
about  alike.  Under  the  primeval  despots  of  Egypt, 
history  honestly  confesses  that  man  must  have  been 
as  free  as  culture  could  make  him. 

These  appearances  indicate  the  fact  that  the  uni 
verse  is  represented  in  every  one  of  its  particles. 
Every  thing  in  nature  contains  all  the  powers  of  na 
ture.  Every  thing  is  made  of  one  hidden  stuff;  as 
the  naturalist  sees  one  type  under  every  metamor 
phosis,  and  regards  a  horse  as  a  running  man,  a  fish 
as  a  swimming  man,  a  bird  as  a  flying  man,  a  tree  as 
a  rooted  man.  Each  new  form  repeats  not  only  the 
main  character  of  the  type,  but  part  for  part  all  the 
details,  all  the  aims,  furtherances,  hindrances,  ener 
gies,  and  whole  system  of  every  other.  Every  occu 
pation,  trade,  art,  transaction,  is  a  compend  of  the 
world,  and  a  correlative  of  every  other.  Each  one 
is  an  entire  emblem  of  human  life  ;  of  its  good  and 
ill,  its  trials,  its  enemies,  its  course  and  its  end.  And 
each  one  must  somehow  accommodate  the  whole 
man,  and  recite  all  his  destiny. 


COMPENSATION.  91 

The  world  globes  itself  in  a  drop  of  dew.  The 
microscope  cannot  find  the  animalcule  which  is  less 
perfect  for  being  little.  Eyes,  ears,  taste,  smell, 
motion,  resistance,  appetite,  and  organs  of  reproduc 
tion  that  take  hold  on  eternity,  —  all  find  room  to 
consist  in  the  small  creature.  So  do  we  put  our  life 
into  every  act.  The  true  doctrine  of  omnipresence 
is,  that  God  reappears  with  all  his  parts  in  every 
moss  and  cobweb.  The  value  of  the  universe  con 
trives  to  throw  itself  into  every  point.  If  the  good 
is  there,  so  is  the  evil  ;  if  the  affinity,  so  the  repul 
sion  ;  if  the  force,  so  the  limitation. 

Thus  is  the  universe  alive.     All  thins  ar 


That  soul,  which  within  us  is  a  sentiment,  outside  of 
us  is  a  law.  We  feel  its  inspiration  ;  out  there  in  his 
tory  we  can  see  its  fatal  strength.  "  It  is  in  the  world, 
and  the  world  was  made  by  it."  Justice  is  not  post 
poned.  A  perfect  equity  adjusts  its  balance  in  all 
parts  of  life.  Ot  Kvpoi  Ai6?  d*\  euTnVrovo-t,  —  The  dice 
of  God  are  always  loaded.  The  world  looks  like 
a  multiplication-table,  or  a  mathematical  equation, 
which,  turn  it  how  you  will,  balances  itself.  Take 
what  figure  you  will,  its  exact  value,  nor  more  nor 
less,  still  returns  to  you.  Every  secret  is  told,  eve 
ry  crime  is  punished,  every  virtue  rewarded,  every 
wrong  redressed,  in  silence  and  certainty.  What  we 
call  retribution  is  the  universal  necessity  by  which 
the  whole  appears  wherever  a  part  appears.  If  you 


92  ESSAY   III. 

see  smoke,  there  must  be  fire.  If  you  see  a  hand  or 
a  limb,  you  know  that  the  trunk  to  which  it  belongs 
is  there  behind. 

Every  act  rewards  itself,  or,  in  other  words,  inte 
grates  itself,  in  a  twofold  manner  ;  first,  in  the  thing, 
or  in  real  nature  ;  and  secondly,  in  the  circum 
stance,  or  in  apparent  nature.  Men  call  the  cir 
cumstance  the  retribution.  The  causal  retribution 
is  in  the  thing,  and  is  seen  by  the  soul.  The  retri 
bution  in  the  circumstance  is  seen  by  the  under 
standing  ;  it  is  inseparable  from  the  thing,  but  is 
often  spread  over  a  long  time,  and  so  does  not 
become  distinct  until  after  many  years.  The  spe 
cific  stripes  may  follow  late  after  the  offence,  but 
they  follow  because  they  accompany  it.  Crime  and 
punishment  grow  out  of  one  stem.  Punishment  is  a 
fruit  that  unsuspected  ripens  within  the  flower  of 
the  pleasure  which  concealed  it.  Cause  and  effect, 
means  and  ends,  seed  and  fruit,  cannot  be  severed  ; 
for  the  effect  already  blooms  in  the  cause,  the  end 
preexists  in  the  means,  the  fruit  in  the  seed. 

Whilst  thus  the  world  will  be  whole,  and  refuses 
to  be  disparted,  we  seek  to  act  partially,  to  sunder, 
to  appropriate  ;  for  example,  —  to  gratify  the  senses, 
we  sever  the  pleasure  of  the  senses  from  the  needs 
of  the  character.  The  ingenuity  of  man  has  always 
been  dedicated  to  the  solution  of  one  problem, — how 
to  detach  the  sensual  sweet,  the  sensual  strong,  the 


COMPENSATION.  93 

sensual  bright,  &c.,  from  the  moral  sweet,  the  moral 
deep,  the  moral  fair  ;  that  is,  again,  to  contrive  to 
cut  clean  off  this  upper  surface  so  thin  as  to  leave  it 
bottomless  ;  to  get  a  one  end,  without  an  other  end. 
The  soul  says,  Eat ;  the  body  would  feast.  The 
soul  says,  The  man  and  woman  shall  be  one  flesh 
and  one  soul ;  the  body  would  join  the  flesh  only. 
The  soul  says,  Have  dominion  over  all  things  to 
the  ends  of  virtue  ;  the  body  would  have  the  power 
over  things  to  its  own  ends. 

The  soul  strives  amain  to  live  and  work  through 
all  things.  It  would  be  the  only  fact.  All  things 
shall  be  added  unto  it,  —  power,  pleasure,  knowl 
edge,  beauty.  The  particular  man  aims  to  be  some 
body  ;  to  set  up  for  himself ;  to  truck  and  higgle 
for  a  private  good  ;  and,  in  particulars,  to  ride,  that 
he  may  ride  ;  to  dress,  that  he  may  be  dressed  ; 
to  eat,  that  he  may  eat ;  and  to  govern,  that  he 
may  be  seen.  Men  seek  to  be  great ;  they  would 
have  offices,  wealth,  powTer,  and  fame.  They  think 
that  to  be  great  is  to  possess  one  side  of  nature,  — 
the  sweet,  without  the  other  side,  —  the  bitter. 

This  dividing  and  detaching  is  steadily  counter 
acted.  Up  to  this  day,  it  must  be  owned,  no 
projector  has  had  the  smallest  success.  The  part 
ed  water  reunites  behind  our  hand.  Pleasure  is 
taken  out  of  pleasant  things,  profit  out  of  profitable 
things,  power  out  of  strong  things,  as  soon  as  we 


94  ESSAY    III. 

seek  to  separate  them  from  the  whole.  We  can 
no  more  halve  things  and  get  the  sensual  good, 
by  itself,  than  we  can  get  an  inside  that  shall  have 
no  outside,  or  a  light  without  a  shadow.  u  Drive 
out  nature  with  a  fork,  she  comes  running  back." 

Life  invests  itself  with  inevitable  conditions,  which 
the  unwise  seek  to  dodge,  which  one  and  another 
brags  that  he  does  not  know  ;  that  they  do  not 
touch  him  ;  —  but  the  brag  is  on  his  lips,  the  con-? 
ditions  are  in  his  soul.  If  he  escapes  them  in  one 
part,  they  attack  him  in  another  more  vital  part. 
If  he  has  escaped  them  in  form,  and  in  the  ap- 
pearance,  it  is  because  he  has  resisted  his  life,  and 
fled  from  himself,  and  the  retribution  is  so  much 
death.  So  signal  is  the  failure  of  all  attempts  to 
make  this  separation  of  the  good  from  the  tax, 
that  the  experiment  would  not  be  tried,  —  since 
to  try  it  is  to  be  mad,  —  but  for  the  circumstance, 
that  when  the  disease  began  in  the  will,  of  rebellion 
and  separation,  the  intellect  is  at  once  infected,  so 
that  the  man  ceases  to  see  God  wiiole  in  each  ob 
ject,  but  is  able  to  see  the  sensual  allurement  of  an 
object,  and  not  see  the  sensual  hurt ;  he  sees  the 
mermaid's  head,  but  not  the  dragon's  tail  ;  and 
thinks  he  can  cut  off  that  which  he  would  have, 
from  that  which  he  would  not  have.  "  How  secret 
art  thou  who  dwellest  in  the  highest  heavens  in  si 
lence,  O  thou  only  great  God,  sprinkling  with  an 


COMPENSATION.  95 

unwearied  Providence  certain  penal  blindnesses  up 
on  such  as  have  unbridled  desires  !  " 

The  human  soul  is  true  to  these  facts  in  the 
painting  of  fable,  of  history,  of  law,  of  proverbs, 
of  conversation.  It  finds  a  tongue  in  literature 
unawares.  Thus  the  Greeks  called  Jupiter,  Su 
preme  Mind  ;  but  having  traditionally  ascribed  to 
him  many  base  actions,  they  involuntarily  made 
amends  to  reason,  by  tying  up  the  hands  of  so  bad 
a  god.  He  is  made  as  helpless  as  a  king  of  Eng 
land.  Prometheus  knows  one  secret  which  Jove 
must  bargain  for;  Minerva,  another.  He  cannot  get 
his  own  thunders  ;  Minerva  keeps  the  key  of  them. 

"  Of  all  the  gods,  I  only  know  the  keys 
That  ope  the  solid  doors  within  whose  vaults 
His  thunders  sleep." 

A  plain  confession  of  the  in-working  of  the  All,  and 
of  its  moral  aim.  The  Indian  mythology  ends  in  the 
same  ethics  ;  and  it  would  seem  impossible  for  any 
fable  to  be  invented  and  get  any  currency  which  was 
not  moral.  Aurora  forgot  to  ask  youth  for  her  lover, 
and  though  Tithonus  is  immortal,  he  is  old.  Achilles 
is  not  quite  invulnerable  ;  the  sacred  waters  did  not 
wash  the  heel  "by  which  Thetis  held  him.  Siegfried, 
in  the  Nibelungen,  is  not  quite  immortal,  for  a  leaf 
fell  on  his  back  whilst  he  was  bathing  in  the  dragon's 
blood,  and  that  spot  which  it  covered  is  mortal. 

*  St.  Augustine,  Confessions,  B.  I. 


96  ESSAY   III. 

And  so  it  must  be.  There  is  a  crack  in  every 
thing  God  has  made.  It  would  seem,  there  is  al 
ways  this  vindictive  circumstance  stealing  in  at  una 
wares,  even  into  the  wild  poesy  in  which  the  human 
fancy  attempted  to  make  bold  holiday,  and  to  shake 
itself  free  of  the  old  laws,  —  this  back-stroke,  this 
kick  of  the  gun,  certifying  that  the  law  is  fatal  ;  that 
in  nature  nothing  can  be  given,  all  things  are  sold. 

This  is  that  ancient  doctrine  of  Nemesis,  who 
keeps  watch  in  the  universe,  and  lets  no  offence  go 
unchastised.  The  Furies,  they  said,  are  attendants 
on  justice,  and  if  the  sun  in  heaven  should  transgress 
his  path,  they  would  punish  him.  The  poets  related 
that  stone  walls,  and  iron  swords,  and  leathern  thongs 
had  an  occult  sympathy  with  the  wrongs  of  their 
owners  ;  that  the  belt  which  Ajax  gave  Hector 
dragged  the  Trojan  hero  over  the  field  at  the  wheels 
of  the  car  of  Achilles,  and  the  sword  which  Hector 
gave  Ajax  was  that  on  whose  point  Ajax  fell. 
They  recorded,  that  when  the  Thasians  erected  a 
statue  to  Theagenes,  a  victor  in  the  games,  one  of 
his  rivals  went  to  it  by  night,  and  endeavoured  to 
throw  it  down  by  repeated  blows,  until  at  last  he 
moved  it  from  its  pedestal,  and  was  crushed  to  death 
beneath  its  fall. 

This  voice  of  fable  has  in  it  somewhat  divine.  It 
came  from  thought  above  the  will  of  the  writer. 
That  is  the  best  part  of  each  writer,  which  has  noth- 


COMPENSATION.  97 

ing  private  in  it  ;  that  which  he  does  not  know  ; 
that  which  flowed  out  of  his  constitution,  and  not 
from  his  too  active  invention  ;  that  which  in  the 
study  of  a  single  artist  you  might  not  easily  find,  but 
in  the  study  of  many,  you  would  abstract  as  the  spirit 
of  them  all.  Phidias  it  is  not,  but  the  work  of  man 
in  that  early  Hellenic  world,  that  I  would  know. 
The  name  and  circumstance  of  Phidias,  however 
convenient  for  history,  embarrass  when  we  come 
to  the  highest  criticism.  We  are  to  see  that  which 
man  was  tending  to  do  in  a  given  period,  and  was 
hindered,  or,  if  you  will,  modified  in  doing,  by  the 
interfering  volitions  of  Phidias,  of  Dante,  of  Shak- 
speare,  the  organ  whereby  man  at  the  moment 
wrought. 

Still  more  striking  is  the  expression  of  this  fact  in 
the  proverbs  of  all  nations,  which  are  always  the 
literature  of  reason,  or  the  statements  of  an  absolute 
truth,  without  qualification.  Proverbs,  like  the  sa 
cred  books  of  each  nation,  are  the  sanctuary  of  the 
intuitions.  That  which  the  droning  world,  chained 
to  appearances,  will  not  allow  the  realist  to  say  in  his 
own  words,  it  will  suffer  him  to  say  in  proverbs  with 
out  contradiction.  And  this  law  of  laws  which  the 
pulpit,  the  senate,  and  the  college  deny,  is  hourly 
preached  in  all  markets  and  workshops  by  flights  of 
proverbs,  whose  teaching  is  as  true  and  as  omni 
present  as  that  of  birds  and  flies. 
7 


98  ESSAY    III. 

All  things  are  double,  one  against  another.  —  Tit 
for  tat  ;  an  eye  for  an  eye  ;  a  tooth  for  a  tooth  ; 
blood  for  blood  ;  measure  for  measure  ;  love  for 
love.  —  Give  and  it  shall  be  given  you.  —  He  that 
watereth  shall  be  watered  himself.  —  What  will  you 
have  ?  quoth  God  ;  pay  for  it  and  take  it.  —  Noth 
ing  venture,  nothing  have.  —  Thou  shalt  be  paid 
exactly  for  what  thou  hast  done,  no  more,  no  less.  — 
Who  doth  not  work  shall  not  eat.  —  Harm^watch. 
harm  catch.  —  Curses  always  recoil  on  the  head  of 
him  who  imprecates  them.  —  If  you  put  a  chain 
around  the  neck  of  a  slave,  the  other  end  fastens 
itself  around  your  own.  —  Bad  counsel  confounds 
the  adviser.  —  The  Devil  is  an  ass. 

It  is  thus  written,  because  it  is  thus  in  life.  Our 
action_is  overmastered  and_characterized  abovejour^ 
will  by  the  law  of  nature.  We  aim  at  a  petty  end 
quite  aside  from  the  public  good,  but  our  act  arranges 
itself  by  irresistible  magnetism  in  a  line  with  the 
poles  of  the  world. 

Hs  A  man  cannot  speak  but  he  judges  himself.  With 
his  will,  or  against  his  will,  he  draws  his  portrait  to 
the  eye  of  his  companions  by  every  word.  Every 
opinion  reacts  on  him  who  utters  it.  It  is  a  thread- 
ball  thrown  at  a  mark,  but  the  other  end  remains  in 
the  thrower's  bag./  Or,  rather,  it  is  a  harpoon  hurled 
at  the  whale,  unwinding,  as  it  flies,  a  coil  of  cord  in 
the  boat,  and  if  the  harpoon  is  not  good,  or  not  well 


COMPENSATION.  99 

thrown,  it  will  go  nigh  to  cut  the  steersman  in  twain, 
or  tp  sink  the  boat. 

.Aiou  cannot  do  wrong  without  suffering  wrong. 
"No  man  had  ever  a  point  of  pride  that  was  not 
injurious  to  him,"  said  Burke.  The  exclusive  in 
fashionable  life  does  not  see  that  he  excludes  him 
self  from  enjoyment,  in  the  attempt  to  appropriate  it. 
The  exclusionist  in  religion  does  not  see  that  he 
shuts  the  door  of  heaven  on  himself,  in  striving  to 
shut  out  others.  Treat  men  as  pawns  and  ninepins, 
and  you  shall  suffer  as  well  as  they.  If  you  leave 
out  their  heart,  you  shall  lose  your  own.  The 
senses  would  make  things  of  all  persons  ;  of  women, 
of  children,  of  the  poor.  J\The  vulgar  proverb,  "  I 
will  get  it  from  his  purse  or  get  it  from  his  skin,"  is 
sound  philosophy. 

All  infractions  of  love  and  equity  in  our  social  re 
lations  are  speedily  punished.  'They  are  punished 
by  fear.  Whilst  I  stand  in  simple  relations  to  my 
fellow-man,  I  have  no  displeasure  in  meeting  him. 
We  meet  as  water  meets  water,  or  as  two  currents 
of  air  mix,  with  perfect  diffusion  and  interpenetration 
of  nature.  But  as  soon  as  there  is  any  departure 
from  simplicity,  and  attempt  at  halfness,  or  good  for 
me  that  is  not  good  for  him,  my  neighbour  feels  the 
wrong  ;  he  shrinks  from  me  as  far  as  I  have  shrunk 
from  him  ;  his  eyes  no  longer  seek  mine  ;  there  is 
war  between  us  ;  there  is  hate  in  him  and  fear  in  me. 


100  ESSAY    III. 

All  the  old  abuses  in  society,  universal  and  par 
ticular,  all  unjust  accumulations  of  property  and 
power,  are  avenged  in  the  same  manner.  Fear  is  an 
instructer  of  great  sagacity,  and  the  herald  of  all 
revolutions.  One  thing  he  teaches,  that  there  is 
rottenness  where  he  appears.  He  is  a  carrion  crow, 
and  though  you  see  not  well  what  he  hovers  for, 
there  is  death  somewhere.  Our  property  is  timid, 
our  laws  are  timid,  our  cultivated  classes  are  timid. 
Fear  for  ages  has  boded  and  mowed  and  gibbered 
over  government  and  property.  That  obscene  bird 
is  not  there  for  nothing.  He  indicates  great  wrongs 
which  must  be  revised. 

Of  the  like  nature  is  that  expectation  of  change 
which  instantly  follows  the  suspension  of  our  volunta 
ry  activity.  The  terror  of  cloudless  noon,  the  eme 
rald  of  Polycrates,  the  awe  of  prosperity,  the  instinct 
which  leads  every  generous  soul  to  impose  on  itself 
tasks  of  a  noble  asceticism  and  vicarious  virtue,  are 
the  tremblings  of  the  balance  of  justice  through  the 
heart  and  mind  of  man. 

[^Experienced  men   of  the  world  know  very  well 
tnat  it  is  best  to  pay  scot  and  lot  as   they  go  along,     ' 
and  that  a  man  often  pays  dear  for  a  small  frugality 77 
The  borrower  runs  in  his   own  debt.     Has   a  man* 
gained  any  thing  who  has  received  a  hundred  favors 
and  rendered  none  ?     Has  he  gained  by  borrowing, 
through  indolence  or  cunning,  his  neighbour's  wares, 


COMPENSATION.  101 

or  horses,  or  money  ?  There  arises  on  the  deed  the 
instant  acknowledgment  of  benefit  on  the  one  part, 
and  of  debt  on  the  other  ;  that  is,  of  superiority  and 
inferiority.  The  transaction  remains  in  the  memory 
of  himself  and  his  neighbour  ;  and  every  new  trans 
action  alters,  according  to  its  nature,  their  relation  to 
each  other.  He  may  soon  come  to  see  that  he  had 
better  have  broken  his  own  bones  than  to  have 
ridden  in  his  neighbour's  coach  Jjand  that  cc  the 
/(  highest  price  he  can  pay  for  a  thing  is  to  ask  for 
it."  / 

A  wise  man  will  extend  this  lesson  to  all  parts  of 
life,  and  know  that  it  is  the  part  of  prudence  to  face 
every  claimant,  and  pay  every  just  demand  on  your 
time,  your  talents,  or  your  heart.  ;  Always  pay  ;  for, 
first  or  last,  you  must  pay  your  entire  debt.  Per 
sons  and  events  may  stand  for  a  time  between  you 
and  justice,  but  it  is  only  a  postponement.  You  must 
pay  at  last  your  own  debt.  If  you  are  wise,  you 
will  dread  a  prosperity  which  only  loads  you  with 
more.  Benefit  is  the  end  of  nature.  But  for  every 
benefit  which  you  receive,  a  tax  is  levied.  He  is 
great  who  confers  the  most  benefits.  He  is  base 
—  and  that  is  the  one  base  thing  in  the  universe  — 
to  receive  favors  and  render  none.  In  the  order  of 
nature  we  cannot  render  benefits  to  those  from  whom 
we  receive  them,  or  only  seldom.  But  the  benefit 
we  receive  must  be  rendered  again,  line  for  line, 


102  ESSAY    III. 

deed  for  deed,  cent  for  cent,  to  somebody.  Beware 
of  too  much  good  staying  in  your  hand.  It  will  fast 
corrupt  and  worm  worms.  Pay  it  away  quickly  in 

e  sort. 

Labor  is  watched  over  by  the  same  pitiless  laws. 
Cheapest,  say  the  prudent,  is  the  dearest  labor. 
What  we  buy  in  a  broom,  a  mat,  a  wagon,  a  knife, 
is  some  application  of  good  sense  to  a  common  want. 
It  is  best  to  pay  in  your  land  a  skilful  gardener,  or  to 
buy  good  sense  applied  to  gardening  ;  in  your  sailor, 
good  sense  applied  to  navigation  ;  in  the  house,  good 
sense  applied  to  cooking,  sewing,  serving  ;  in  your 
agent,  good  sense  applied  to  accounts  and  affairs. 
So  do  you  multiply  your  presence,  or  spread  your 
self  throughout  your  estate.  But  because  of  the  du 
al  constitution  of  things,  in  labor  as  in  life  there  can 
be  no  cheating.  The  thief  steals  from  himself.  The 
swindler  swindles  himself.  For  the  real  price  of  la 
bor  is  knowledge  and  virtue,  whereof  wealth  and 
credit  are  signs.  These  signs,  like  paper  money, 
may  be  counterfeited  or  stolen,  but  that  which  they 
represent,  namely,  knowledge  and  virtue,  cannot  be 
counterfeited  or  stolen.  These  ends  of  labor  can 
not  be  answered  but  by  real  exertions  of  the  mind, 
and  in  obedience  to  pure  motives.  The  cheat,  the 
defaulter,  the  gambler,  cannot  extort  the  knowledge 
of  material  and  moral  nature  which  his  honest  care 
and  pains  yield  to  the  operative.  The  law  of 


COMPENSATION.  103 

nature  is.  Do  the  thing,  and  you  shall  have  the 
power :  but  they  who  do  not  the  thing  have  not  the 
power.  ) 

Human  labor,  through  all  its  forms,  from  the  sharp 
ening  of  a  stake  to  the  construction  of  a  city  or  an 
epic,  is  one  immense  illustration  of  the  perfect  com 
pensation  of  the  universe.  The  absolute  balance  of 
Give  and  Take,  the  doctrine  that  every  thing  has  its 
price,  —  and  if  that  price  is  not  paid,  not  that  thing 
but  something  else  is  obtained,  and  that  it  is  impossi 
ble  to  get  any  thing  without  its  price,  —  is  not  less 
sublime  in  the  columns  of  a  leger  than  in  the  budgets 
of  states,  in  the  laws  of  light  and  darkness,  in  all  the 
action  and  reaction  of  nature.  I  cannot  doubt  that 
the  high  laws  which  each  man  sees  implicated  in  those 
processes  with  which  he  is  conversant,  the  stern  eth 
ics  which  sparkle  on  his  chisel-edge,  which  are  meas 
ured  out  by  his  plumb  and  foot-rule,  which  stand  as 
manifest  in  the  footing  of  the  shop-bill  as  in  the  his 
tory  of  a  state,  —  do  recommend  to  him  his  trade, 
and  though  seldom  named,  exalt  his  business  to  his 
imagination. 

The  league  between  virtue  and  nature  engages  all 
things  to  assnmfi  a.  |]9gtjlft  fr^nt  tn  vir.fi.  The  beau 
tiful  laws  and  substances  of  the  world  persecute  and 
whip  the  traitor.  He  finds  that  things  are  arranged 
for  truth  and  benefit,  but  there  is  no  den  in  the  wide 
world  to  hide  a  rogue.  Commit  a  crime,  and  the 


104  ESSAY    III. 

earth  is  made  of  glass.  Commit  a  crime,  and  it 
seems  as  if  a  coat  of  snow  fell  on  the  ground,  such 
as  reveals  in  the  woods  the  track  of  every  partridge 
and  fox  and  squirrel  and  mole.  You  cannot  recall 
the  spoken  word,  you  cannot  wipe  out  the  foot-track, 
you  cannot  draw  up  the  ladder,  so  as  to  leave  no  in 
let  or  clew.  Some  damning  circumstance  always 
transpires.  The  laws  and  substances  of  nature  — 
water,  snow,  wind,  gravitation  —  become  penalties  to 
the  thief. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  law  holds  with  equal  sure- 
ness  for  all  right  action.  Love,  and  you  shall  be 
loved.  All  love  is  mathematically  just,  as  much  as 
the  two  sides  of  an  algebraic  equation.  The  good 
man  has  absolute  good,  which  like  fire  turns  every 
thing  to  its  own  nature,  so  that  you  cannot  do  him 
any  harm  ;  but  as  the  royal  armies  sent  against  Na 
poleon,  when  he  approached,  cast  down  their  colors 
and  from  enemies  became  friends,  so  disasters  of 
all  kinds,  as  sickness,  offence,  poverty,  prove  bene 
factors  :  — 

"  Winds  blow  and  waters  roll 
Strength  to  the  brave,  and  power  and  deity, 
Yet  in  themselves  are  nothing." 

The  good  are  befriended  even  by  weakness  and 
defect.  As  no  man  had  ever  a  point  of  pride  that 
was  not  injurious  to  him,  so  no  man  had  ever  a  de 
fect  that  was  not  somewhere  made  useful  to  him. 
The  stag  in  the  fable  admired  his  horns  and  blamed 


COMPENSATION.  105 

his  feet,  but  when  the  hunter  came,  his  feet  saved 
him,  and  afterwards,  caught  in  the  thicket,  his  horns 
destroyed  him.  Every  man  in  his  lifetime  needs  to 
thank  his  faults.  As  no  man  thoroughly  understands 
a  truth  until  he  has  contended  against  it,  so  no  man 
has  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  hindrances  or 
talents  of  men,  until  he  has  suffered  from  the  one, 
and  seen  the  triumph  of  the  other  over  his  owTn  want 
of  the  same.  Has  he  a  defecTof  temper  that  unfits 
him  to  live  in  society  ?  Thereby  he  is  driven  to  en 
tertain  himself  alone,  and  acquire  habits  of  self-help  ; 
and  thus,  like  the  wounded  oyster,  he  mends  his  shell 
with  pearl. 

VOur  strength  grows  out  of  our  weakness. C  The 
indignation  which  arms  itself  with  secret  forces  does 
not  awaken  until  we  are  pricked  and  stung  and  sorely 
assailed.)  A  great  man  is  always  willing  to  be  little. 
Whilst  he,  sits  on  the  cushion  of  advantages,  he  goes 
to  sleeper"  When  he  is  pushed,  tormented,  defeated, 
he  has  a  chance  to  learn  something  ;  he  has  been  put 
on  his  wits,  on  his  manhood  ;  he  has  gained  facts  ; 
learns  "his  ignorance  ;  is  cured  of  the  insanity  of 
conceit ;  has  got  moderation  and  real  skill.  XThe 
wise  man  throws  himself  on  the  side  of  his  assail 
ants.  It  is  more  his  interest  than  it  is  theirs  to  find 
his  weak  point.  The  wound  cicatrizes  and  falls  off 
from  him  like  a  dead  skin,  and  when  they  would  tri 
umph,  lo  !  he  has  passed  on  invulnerable.  Blame 


106  ESSAY    III. 

is  safer  than  praise. /\  I  hate  to  be  defended  in  a 
newspaper.  As  long  as  all  that  is  said  is  said 
against  me,  I  feel  a  certain  assurance  of  success. 
But  as  soon  as  honeyed  words  of  praise  are  spoken 
for  me,  I  feel  as  one  that  lies  unprotected  before 
his  enemies.  In  general,  every  evil  to  which  we  do 
not  succumb  is  a  benefactor.  As  the  Sandwich 
Islander  believes  that  the  strength  and  valor  of  the 
enemy  he  kills  passes  into  himself,  so  we  gain 
the  strength  of  the  temptation  we  resist. 

''The  same  guards  which  protect  us  from  disaster, 
defect,  and  enmity,  defend  us,  if  we  will,  from  self 
ishness  and  fraud.  Bolts  and  bars  are  not  the  best 
of  our  institutions,  nor  is  shrewdness  in  trade  a 
mark  of  wisdom.  Men  suffer  all  their  life  long, 
under  the  foolish  superstition  that  they  can  be  cheat 
ed.  But  it  is  as  impossible  for  a  man  to  be  cheated 
by  any  one  but  himself,  as  for  a  thing  to  be  and  not 
to  be  at  the  same  time.  There  is  a  third  silent  par 
ty  to  all  our  bargains.  The  nature  and  soul  of 
things  takes  on  itself  the  guaranty  of  the  fulfilment 
of  every  contract,  so  that  honest  service  cannot 
come  to  loss.  If  you  serve  an  ungrateful  master, 
serve  him  the  more.  Put  God  in  your  debt.  Ev 
ery  stroke  shall  be  repaid.  The  longer  the  payment 
is  withholden,  the  better  for  you  ;  for  compound  in 
terest  on  compound  interest  is  the  rate  and  usage  of 
this  exchequer. 


COMPENSATION.  107 

The  history  of  persecution  is  a  history  of  en 
deavours  to  cheat  nature,  to  make  water  run  up 
hill,  to  twist  a  rope  of  sand.  It  makes  no  differ 
ence  whether  the  actors  be  many  or  one,  a  tyrant 
or.  a  mob.  A  mob  is  a  society  of  bodies  volun 
tarily  bereaving  themselves  of  reason,  and  traversing 
its  work.  The  mob  is  man  voluntarily  descending 
to  the  nature  of  the  beast.  Its  fit  hour  of  activi 
ty  is  night.  Its  actions  are  insane  like  its  whole 
constitution.  It  persecutes  a  principle  ;  it  would 
whip  a  right  ;  it  would  tar  and  feather  justice,  by 
inflicting  fire  and  outrage  upon  the  houses  and  per 
sons  of  those  who  have  these.  It  resembles  the 
prank  of  boys,  who  run  with  fire-engines  to  put  out 
the  ruddy  aurora  streaming  to  the  stars.  The  inviolate 
spirit  turns  their  spite  against  the  wrongdoers.  The 
martyr  cannot  be  dishonored.  Every  lash  inflicted  is 
a  tongue  of  fame  ;  every  prison,  a  more  illustrious 
abode7~every4)urned  book  or  house  enlightens  the 
world  ;  every  suppressed  or  expunged  word  reverber 
ates  through  the  earth  from  side  to  side.  Hours  of 
sanity  and  consideration  are  always  arriving  to  com 
munities,  as  to  individuals,  when  the  truth  is  seen, 
and  the  martyrs  are  justified. 

Thus  do  all  things  preach  the  indifferency  of  cir 
cumstances.  The  man  is  all.  Every  thing  has  two 
sides,  a  good  and  an  evil.  Every  advantage  has  its 


108  ESSAY   III. 

tax.  I  learn  to  be  content.  But  the  doctrine  of 
compensation  is  not  the  doctrine  of  indifferency.  The 
thoughtless  say,  on  hearing  these  representations,  — 
What  boots  it  to  do  well  ?  there  is  one  event  to 
good  and  evil ;  if  I  gain  any  good,  I  must  pay  for 
it ;  if  I  lose  any  good,  I  gain  some  other  ;  all  ac 
tions  are  indifferent. 

There  is  a  deeper  fact  in  the  soul  than  compensa 
tion,  to  wit,  its  own  nature.  The  soul  is  not  a  com 
pensation,  but  a  life.  The  soul  is.  Under  all  this 
running  sea  of  circumstance,  whose  waters  ebb  and 
flow  with  perfect  balance,  lies  the  aboriginal  abyss 
of  real  Being.  Essence,  or  God,  is  not  a  relation, 
or  a  part,  but  the  whole.  Being  is  the  vast  affirma 
tive,  excluding  negation,  self-balanced,  and  swallow 
ing  up  all  relations,  parts,  and  times  within  itself. 
Nature,  truth,  virtue,  are  the  influx  from  thence. 
Vice  is  the  absence  or  departure  of  the  same. 
Nothing,  Falsehood,  may  indeed  stand  as  the  great 
Night  or  shade,  on  which,  as  a  background,  the  liv 
ing  universe  paints  itself  forth  ;  but  no  fact  is  begot 
ten  by  it  ;  it  cannot  work  ;  for  it  is  not.  It  cannot 
work  any  good  ;  it  cannot  work  any  harm.  It  is 
harm  inasmuch  as  it  is  worse  not  to  be  than  to  be. 

We  feel  defrauded  of  the  retribution  due  to  evil 
acts,  because  the  criminal  adheres  to  his  vice  and 
contumacy,  and  does  not  come  to  a  crisis  or  judg 
ment  anywhere  in  visible  nature.  There  is  no  stun- 


COMPENSATION.  109 

ning  confutation  of  his  nonsense  before  men  and  an 
gels.  Has  he  therefore  outwitted  the  law  ?  Inas 
much  as  he  carries  the  malignity  and  the  lie  with 
him,  he  so  far  deceases  from  nature.  In  some 
manner  there  will  be  a  demonstration  of  the  wrong 
to  the  understanding  also  ;  but  should  we  not  see 
it,  this  deadly  deduction  makes  square  the  eternal 
account. 

Neither  can  it  be  said,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
the  gain  of  rectitude  must  be  bought  by  any  loss. 
There  is  no  penalty  to  virtue  ;  no  penalty  to  wis 
dom  ;  they  are  proper  additions  of  being.  In  a 
virtuous  action,  I  properly  am ;  in  a  virtuous  act, 
I  add  to  the  world  ;  I  plant  into  deserts  conquered 
from  Chaos  and  Nothing,  and  see  the  darkness 
receding  on  the  limits  of  the  horizon.  There  can 
be  no  excess  to  love  ;  none  to  knowledge  ;  none 
to  beauty,  when  these  attributes  are  considered  in 
the  purest  sense.  The  soul  refuses  limits,  and  al 
ways  affirms  an  Optimism,  never  a  Pessimism. 

His  life  is  a  progress,  and  not  a  station.  His  in 
stinct  is  trust.  Our  instinct  uses  "  more "  and 
"  less  "  in  application  to  man,  of  the  presence  of 
the  soul,  and  not  of  its  absence  ;  the  brave  man  is 
greater  than  the  coward  ;  the  true,  the  benevolent, 
the  wise,  is  more  a  man,  and  not  less,  than  the  fool 
and  knave.  There  is  no  tax  on  the  good  of  virtue  ; 
for  that  is  the  incoming  of  God  himself,  or  absolute 


110  ESSAY    III. 

existence,  without  any  comparative.  Material,  good 
has  its  tax,  and  if  it  came  without  desert  or  sweat, 
has  no  root  in  me,  and  the  next  wind  will  blow  it 
away.  But  all  the  good  of  nature  is  the  soul's, 
and  may  be  had,  if  paid  for  in  nature's  lawful 
coin,  that  is,  by  labor  which  the  heart  and  the  head 
allow.  I  no  longer  wish  to  meet  a  good  I  do  not 
earn,  for  example,  to  find  a  pot  of  buried  gold, 
knowing  that  it  brings  with  it  new  burdens.  I  do 
not  wish  more  external  goods,  —  neither  possessions, 
nor  honors,  nor  powers,  nor  persons.  The  gain  is 
apparent  ;  the  tax  is  certain.  But  there  is  no  tax 
on  the  knowledge  that  the  compensation  exists,  and 
that  it  is  not  desirable  to  dig  up  treasure.  Herein 
I  rejoice  with  a  serene  eternal  peace.  I  contract 
the  boundaries  of  possible  mischief.  I  learn  the 
wisdom  of  St.  Bernard,  —  "  Nothing  can  work  me 
damage  except  myself ;  the  harm  that  I  sustain  I 
carry  about  with  me,  and  never  am  a  real  sufferer 
but  by  my  own  fault." 

In  the  nature  of  the  soul  is  the  compensation  for 
the  inequalities  of  condition.  The  radical  tragedy  of 
nature  seems  to  be  the  distinction  of  More  and  Less. 
How  can  Less  not  feel  the  pain  ;  how  not  feel  in 
dignation  or  malevolence  towards  More  ?  Look  at 
those  who  have  less  faculty,  and  one  feels  sad,  and 
knows  not  well  what  to  make  of  it.  He  almost 
shuns  their  eye  ;  he  fears  they  will  upbraid  God. 


COMPENSATION.  Ill 

What  should  they  do  ?  It  seems  a  great  injustice. 
But  see  the  facts  nearly,  and  these  mountainous  in 
equalities  vanish.  Love  reduces  them,  as  the  sun 
melts  the  iceberg  in  the  sea.  The  heart  and  soul 
of  all  men  being  one,  this  bitterness  of  His  and  Mine 
ceases.  His  is  mine.  I  am  my  brother,  and  my 
brother  is  me.  If  I  feel  overshadowed  and  outdone 
by  great  neighbours,  I  can  yet  love  ;  I  can  still  re 
ceive  ;  and  he  that  loveth  maketh  his  own  the  gran 
deur  he  loves.  Thereby  I  make  the  discovery  that 
my  brother  is  my  guardian,  acting  for  me  with  the 
friendliest  designs,  and  the  estate  I  so  admired  and 
envied  is  my  own.  It  is  the  nature  of  the  soul  to 
appropriate  all  things.  Jesus  and  Shakspeare  are 
fragments  of  the  soul,  and  by  love  I  conquer  and 
incorporate  them  in  my  own  conscious  domain.  His 
virtue,  —  is  not  that  mine  ?  His  wit,  —  if  it  cannot 
be  made  mine,  it  is  not  wit. 

Such,  also,  is  the  natural  history  of  calamity. 
The  changes  which  break  up  at  short  intervals  the 
prosperity  of  men  are  advertisements  of  a  nature 
whose  law  is  growth.  Every  soul  is  by  this  intrinsic 
necessity  quitting  its  whole  system  of  things,  its 
friends,  and  home,  and  laws,  and  faith,  as  the  shell 
fish  crawls  out  of  its  beautiful  but  stony  case,  be 
cause  it  no  longer  admits  of  its  growth,  and  slowly 
forms  a  new  house.  In  proportion  to  the  vigor  of 
the  individual,  these  revolutions  are  frequent,  until  in 


112  ESSAY   III. 

some  happier  mind  they  are  incessant,  and  all  world 
ly  relations  hang  very  loosely  about  him,  becoming, 
as  it  were,  a  transparent  fluid  membrane  through 
which  the  living  form  is  seen,  and  not,  as  in  most 
men,  an  indurated  heterogeneous  fabric  of  many 
dates,  and  of  no  settled  character,  in  which  the  man 
is  imprisoned.  Then  there  can  be  enlargement,  and 
the  man  of  to-day  scarcely  recognizes  the  man  of 
yesterday.  And  such  should  be  the  outward  biog 
raphy  of  man  in  time,  a  putting  off  of  dead  circum 
stances  day  by  day,  as  he  renews  his  raiment  day  by 
day.  But  to  us,  in  our  lapsed  estate,  resting,  not 
advancing,  resisting,  not  cooperating  with  the  divine 
expansion,  this  growth  comes  by  shocks. 

We  cannot  part  with  our  friends.  We  cannot  let 
our  angels  go.  We  do  not  see  that  they  only  go 
out,  that  archangels  may  come  in.  We  are  idolaters 
of  the  old.  We  do  not  believe  in  the  riches  of  the 
soul,  in  its  proper  eternity  and  omnipresence.  We 
do  not  believe  there  is  any  force  in  to-day  to  rival 
or  recreate  that  beautiful  yesterday.  We  linger  in 
the  ruins  of  the  old  tent,  where  once  we  had  bread 
and  shelter  and  organs,  nor  believe  that  the  spirit 
can  feed,  cover,  and  nerve  us  again.  We  cannot 
again  find  aught  so  dear,  so  sweet,  so  graceful.  But 
we  sit  and  weep  in  vain.  The  voiq^,  of  the  Al 
mighty  saith,  '  Up  and  onward  for  ^evermore  !  ' 
We  cannot  stay  amid  the  ruins.  Neither  will  we 


COMPENSATION.  113 

rely  on  the  new  ;  and  so  we  walk  ever  with  revert 
ed  eyes,  like  those  monsters  who  look  backwards. 

And  yet  the  compensations  of  calamity  are  made 
apparent  to  the  understanding  also,  after  long  inter 
vals  of  time.  A  fever,  a  mutilation,  a  cruel  disap 
pointment,  a  loss  of  wealth,  a  loss  of  friends,  seems 
at  the  moment  unpaid  loss,  and  unpayable.  But  the 
sure  years  reveal  the  deep  remedial  force  that  under 
lies  all  facts.  The  death  of  a  dear  friend,  wife, 
brother,  lover,  which  seemed  nothing  but  privation, 
somewhat  later  assumes  the  aspect  of  a  guide  or 
genius  ;  for  it  commonly  operates  revolutions  in  our 
way  of  life,  terminates  an  epoch  of  infancy  or  of 
youth  which  was  waiting  to  be  closed,  breaks  up  a 
wonted  occupation,  or  a  household,  or  style  of  liv 
ing,  and  allows  the  formation  of  new  ones  more 
friendly  to  the  growth  of  character.  It  permits  or 
constrains  the  formation  of  new  acquaintances,  and 
the  reception  of  new  influences  that  prove  of  the 
first  importance  to  the  next  years  ;  and  the  man  or 
woman  who  would  have  remained  a  sunny  garden- 
flower,  with  no  room  for  its  roots  and  too  much  sun 
shine  for  its  head,  by  the  falling  of  the  walls  and  the 
neglect  of  the  gardener,  is  made  the  banian  of  the 
forest,  yielding  shade  and  fruit  to  wide  neighbour 
hoods  of  men. 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS. 


The  living  Heaven  thy  prayers  respect, 
House  at  once  and  architect, 
Quarrying  man's  rejected  hours, 
Builds  therewith  eternal  towers ; 
Sole  and  self-commanded  works, 
Fears  not  undermining  days, 
Grows  by  decays,, 

And,  by  the  famous  might  that  lurks 
In  reaction  and  recoil, 
Makes  flame  to  freeze,  and  ice  to  boil  ; 
Forging,  through  swart  arms  of  Offence, 
The  silver  seat  of  Innocence. 


ESSAY   IV. 
SPIRITUAL    LAWS 


WHEN  the  act  of  reflection  takes  place  in  the 
mind,  when  we  look  at  ourselves  in  the  light  of 
thought,  we  discover  that  our  life  is  embosomed 
in  beauty.  Behind  us,  as  we  go,  all  things  assume 
pleasing  forms,  as  clouds  do  far  off.  Not  only 
things  familiar  and  stale,  but  even  the  tragic  and 
terrible,  are  comely,  as  they  take  their  place  in 
the  pictures  of  memory.  The  river-bank,  the 
weed  at  the  water-side,  the  old  house,  the  fool 
ish  person,  —  however  neglected  in  the  passing, 
—  have  a  grace  in  the  past.  Even  the  corpse 
that  has  lain  in  the  chambers  has  added  a  solemn 
ornament  to  the  house.  The  soul  will  not  know 
either  deformity  or  pain.  If,  in  the  hours  of  clear 
reason,  we  should  speak  the  severest  truth,  we 
should  say,  that  we  had  never  made  a  sacrifice. 
In  these  hours  the  mind  seems  so  great,  that  noth 
ing  can  be  taken  from  us  that  seems  much.  All 


118  ESSAY   IV. 

loss,  all  pain,  is  particular  ;  the  universe  remains 
to  the  heart  unhurt.  Neither  vexations  nor  ca 
lamities  abate  our  trust.  No  man  ever  stated  his 
griefs  as  lightly  as  he  might.  Allow  for  exagger 
ation  in  the  most  patient  and  sorely  ridden  hack 
that  ever  was  driven.  For  it  is  only  the  finite 
that  has  wrought  and  suffered ;  the  infinite  lies 
stretched  in  smiling  repose. 

The  intellectual  life  may  be  kept  clean  and  health 
ful,  if  man  will  live  the  life  of  nature,  and  not  im 
port  into  his  mind  difficulties  which  are  none  of  his. 
No  man  need  be  perplexed  in  his  speculations.  Let 
him  do  and  say  what  strictly  belongs  to  him,  and, 
though  very  ignorant  of  books,  his  nature  shall  not 
yield  him  any  intellectual  obstructions  and  doubts. 
Our  young  people  are  diseased  with  the  theologi 
cal  problems  of  original  sin,  origin  of  evil,  pre 
destination,  and  the  like.  These  never  presented 
a  practical  difficulty  to  any  man,  —  never  darkened 
across  any  man's  road,  who  did  not  go  out  of  his 
way  to  seek  them.  These  are  the  soul's  mumps, 
and  measles,  and  whooping-coughs,  and  those  who 
have  not  caught  them  cannot  describe  their  health 
or  prescribe  the  cure.  A  simple  mind  will  not 
know  these  enemies.  It  is  quite  another  thing 
that  he  should  be  able  to  give  account  of  his  faith, 
and  expound  to  another  the  theory  of  his  self-union 
and  freedom.  This  requires  rare  gifts.  Yet,  with- 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  119 

out  this  self-knowledge,  there  may  be  a  sylvan 
strength  and  integrity  in  that  which  he  is.  U^A 
fe^L-SJSSng.  ..instincts,  and  .a  few. .plain  rules"  suf 
fice  us. 

My  will  never  gave  the  images  in  my  mind  the 
rank  they  now  take.  The  regular  course  of  stud 
ies,  the  years  of  academical  and  professional  ed 
ucation,  have  not  yielded  me  better  facts  than  some 
idle  books  under  the  bench  at  the  Latin  School. 
What  we  do  not  call  education  is  more  precious 
than  that  which  we  call  so.  We  form  no  guess, 
at  the  time  of  receiving  a  thought,  of  its  compara 
tive  value.  And  education  often  wastes  its  effort 
in  attempts  to  thwart  and  balk  this  natural  magnet 
ism,  whicfe  is  sure  to  select  what  belongs  to  it. 

In  like  manner,  our  moral  nature  is  vitiated  by 
any  interference  of  our  will.  People  represent  virtue 
as  a  struggle,  and  take  to  themselves  great  airs  up 
on  their  attainments,  and  the  question  is  everywhere 
vexed,  when  a  noble  nature  is  commended,  whether 
the  man  is  not  better  who  strives  with  temptation. 
But  there  is  no  merit  in  the  matter.  Either  God 
is  there,  or  he  is  not  there.  We  love  characters 
in  proportion  as  they  are  impulsive  and  spontaneous. 
The  less  a  man  thinks  or  knows  about  his  virtues, 
the  better  we  like  him.  Timoleon's  victories  are 
the  best  victories  ;  which  ran  and  flowed  like  Ho 
mer's  verses,  Plutarch  said.  When  we  see  a  soul 


120  ESSAY   IV. 

whose  acts  are  all  regal,  graceful,  and  pleasant  as 
roses,  we  must  thank  God  that  such  things  can  be 
and  are,  and  not  turn  sourly  on  the  angel,  and  say, 
(  Crump  is  a  better  man  with  his  grunting  resistance 
to  all  his  native  devils.' 

Not  less  conspicuous  is  the  preponderance  of  na 
ture  over  will  in  all  practical  life.  There  is  less 
intention  in  history  than  we  ascribe  to  it.  We  im 
pute  deep-laid,  far-sighted  plans  to  Caesar  and  Na 
poleon  ;  but  the  best  of  their  power  was  in  nature, 
not  in  them.  Men  of  an  extraordinary  success,  in 
their  honest  moments,  have  always  sung,  '  Not  un 
to  us,  not  unto  us.'  According  to  the  faith  of  their 
times,  they  have  built  altars  to  Fortune,  or  to  Des 
tiny,  or  to  St.  Julian.  Their  success  lay  in  their 
parallelism  to  the  course  of  thought,  which  found 
in  •them  an  unobstructed  channel;  and  the  wonders 
of  which  they  were  the  visible  conductors  seemed 
to  the  eye  their  deed.  Did  the  wires  generate  the 
galvanism  ?  It  is  even  true  that  there  was  less  in 
thern*  on  which  they  could  reflect,  than  in  another  ; 
as  the  virtue  of  a  pipe  is  to  be  smooth  and  hollow. 
That  which  externally  seemed  will  and  immovable- 
ness  was  willingness  and  self-annihilation.  Could 
Shakspeare  give  a  theory  of  Shakspeare  ?  Could 
ever  a  man  of  prodigious  mathematical  genius  con 
vey  to  others  any  insight  into  his  methods  ?  If  he 
could  communicate  that  secret,  it  would  instantly 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  121 

lose  its  exaggerated  value,  blending  with  the  day 
light  and  the  vital  energy  the  power  to  stand  and 
to  go. 

The  lesson  is  forcibly  taught  by  these  observa 
tions,  that  our  life  might  be  much  easier  and  simpler 
than  we  make  it  ;  that  the  world  might  be  a  happier 
place  than  it  is  ;  that  there  is  no  need  of  struggles, 
convulsions,  and  despairs,  of  the  wringing  of  the 
hands  and  the  gnashing  of  the  teeth  ;  that  we  mis- 
create  our  own  evils.  We  interfere  with  the  opti 
mism  of  nature  ;  for,  whenever  we  get  this  vantage- 
ground  of  the  past,  or  of  a  wiser  mind  in  the  pres 
ent,  we  are  able  to  discern  that  we  are  begirt  with 
laws  which  execute  themselves. 

The  face  of  external  nature  teaches  the  same  les 
son.  Nature  will  not  have  us  fret  and  fume.  She 
does  not  like  our  benevolence  or  our  learning  much 
better  than  she  likes  our  frauds  and  wars.  When 
we  come  out  of  the  caucus,  or  the  bank,  or  the 
Abolition-convention,  or  the  Temperance-meeting, 
or  the  Transcendental  club,  into  the  fields  and 
woods,  she  says  to  us,  c  So  hot  ?  my  little  Sir.' 

We  are  full  of  mechanical  actions.  We  must 
needs  intermeddle,  and  have  things  in  our  own  way, 
until  the  sacrifices  and  virtues  of  society  are  odious. 
Love  should  make  joy  ;  but  our  benevolence  is  un 
happy.  Our  Sunday-schools,  and  churches,  and 
pauper-societies  are  yokes  to  the  neck.  We  pain 


122  ESSAY    IV. 

ourselves  to  please  nobody.  There  are  natural 
ways  of  arriving  at  the  same  ends  at  which  these 
aim,  but  do  not  arrive.  Why  should  all  virtue  work 
in  one  and  the  same  way  ?  Why  should  all  give 
dollars  ?  It  is  very  inconvenient  to  us  country  folk, 
and  we  do  not  think  any  good  will  come  of  it.  We 
have  not  dollars  ;  merchants  have  ;  let  them  give 
them.  Farmers  will  give  corn  ;  poets  will  sing ; 
women  will  sew  ;  laborers  will  lend  a  hand  ;  the 
children  will  bring  flowers.  And  why  drag  this 
dead  weight  of  a  Sunday-school  over  the  whole 
Christendom  ?  It  is  natural  and  beautiful  that  child 
hood  should  inquire,  and  maturity  should  teach  ; 
but  it  is  time  enough  to  answer  questions  when  they 
are  asked.  Do  not  shut  up  the  young  people  against 
their  will  in  a  pew,  and  force  the  children  to  ask 
them  questions  for  an  hour  against  their  will. 

If  we  look  wider,  things  are  all  alike  ;  laws,  and 
letters,  and  creeds,  and  modes  of  living,  seem  a 
travestie  of  truth.  Our  society  is  encumbered  by 
ponderous  machinery,  which  resembles  the  endless 
aqueducts  which  the  Romans  built  over  hill  and 
dale,  and  which  are  superseded  by  the  discovery 
of  the  law  that  water  rises  to  the  level  of  its  source. 
It  is  a  Chinese  wall  which  any  nimble  Tartar  can 
leap  over.  It  is  a  standing  army,  not  so  good  as 
a  peace.  It  is  a  graduated,  titled,  richly  appointed 
empire,  quite  superfluous  when  town-meetings  are 
found  to  answer  just  as  well. 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  123 

Let  us  draw  a  lesson  from  nature,  which  always 
works  by  short  ways.  When  the  fruit  is  ripe,  it 
falls.  When  the  fruit  is  despatched,  the  leaf  falls. 
The  circuit  of  the  waters  is  mere  falling.  The 
walking  of  man  and  all  animals  is  a  falling  forward. 
All  our  manual  labor  and  works  of  strength,  as 
prying,  splitting,  digging,  rowing,  and  so  forth,  are 
done  by  dint  of  continual  falling,  and  the  globe, 
earth,  moon,  comet,  sun,  star,  fall  for  ever  and  ever. 

The  simplicity  of  the  universe  is  very  different 
from  the  simplicity  of  a  machine.  He  who  sees 
moral  nature  out  and  out,  and  thoroughly  knows 
how  knowledge  is  acquired  and  character  formed, 
is  a  pedant.  The  simplicity  of  nature  is  not  that 
which  may  easily  be  read,  but  is  inexhaustible. 
The  last  analysis  can  no  wise  be  made.  We  judge 
of  a  man's  wisdom  by  his  hope,  knowing  that  the 
perception  of  the  inexhaustibleness  of  nature  is  an 
immortal  youth.  The  wild  fertility  of  nature  is 
felt  in  comparing  our  rigid  names  and  reputations 
with  our  fluid  consciousness.  We  pass  in  the 
world  for  sects  and  schools,  for  erudition  and  piety, 
and  we  are  all  the  time  jejune  babes.  One  sees 
very  well  how  Pyrrhonism  grew  up.  Every  man 
sees  that  he  is  that  middle  point,  whereof  every 
thing  may  be  affirmed  and  denied  with  equal  reason. 
He  is  old,  he  is  young,  he  is  very  wise,  he  is  alto 
gether  ignorant.  He  hears  and  feels  what  you  say 


> 


124  ESSAY   IV. 

of  the  seraphim,  and  of  the  tin-pedler.  There  is 
no  permanent  wise  man,  except  in  the  figment  of 
the  Stoics.  We  side  with  the  hero,  as  we  read 
or  paint,  against  the  coward  and  the  robber  ;  but 
we  have  been  ourselves  that  coward  and  robber, 
and  shall  be  again,  not  in  the  low  circumstance, 
but  in  comparison  with  the  grandeurs  possible  to 
the  soul. 

A  little  consideration  of  what  takes  place  around 
us  every  day  would  show  us,  that  a  higher  law 
than  that  of  our  will  regulates  events  ;  that  our 
painful  labors  are  unnecessary,  and  fruitless  ;  that 
only  in  our  easy,  simple,  spontaneous  action  are 
we  strong,  and  by  contenting  ourselves  with  obe 
dience  we  become  divine.  Belief  and  love,  —  a 
believing  love  will  relieve  us  of  a  vast  load  of  care. 
O  my  brothers,  God  exists.  There  is  a  soul  at 
the  centre  of  nature,  and  over  the  will  of  every 
man,  so  that  none  of  us  can  wrong  the  universe. 
It  has  so  infused  its  strong  enchantment  into  naturfe, 
that  we  prosper  when  we  accept  its  advice,  and 
when  we  struggle  to  wound  its  creatures,  our  hands 
are  glued  to  our  sides,  or  they  beat  our  own  breasts. 
The  whole  course  of  things  goes  to  teach  us  faith. 
We  need  only  obey.  There  is  guidance  for  each 
of  us,  and  by  lowly  listening  we  shall  hear  the  right 
word.  Why  need  you  choose  so  painfully  your 
place,  and  occupation,  and  associates,  and  modes 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  125 

of  action,  and  of  entertainment  ?  Certainly  there 
is  a  possible  right  for  you  that  precludes  the  need 
of  balance  and  wilful  election.  For  you  there  is 
a  reality,  a  fit  place  and  congenial  duties.  Place 
yourself  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  of  power  and 
wisdom  vwhich  animates  all  whom  it  floats,  and  you 
are  without  effort  impelled  to  truth,  to  right,  and 
a  perfect  contentment.  Then  you  put  all  gainsay- 
ers  in  the  wrong.  Then  you  are  the  world,  the 
measure  of  right,  of  truth,  of  beauty.  If  we  will 
not  be  mar-plots  with  our  miserable  interferences, 
the  work,  the  society,  letters,  arts,  science,  reli 
gion  of  men  would  go  on  far  better  than  now, 
and  the  heaven  predicted  from  the  beginning  of  the 
world,  and  still  predicted  from  the  bottom  of  the 
heart,  would  organize  itself,  as  do  now  the  rose^ 
and  the  air,  and  the  sun. 

I  say,  do  not  choose  ;  but  that  is  a  figure  of 
speech  by  which  I  would  distinguish  what  is  com 
monly  called  choice  among  men,  and  which  is  a 
partial  act,  the  choice  of  the  hands,  of  the  eyes, 
of  the  appetites,  and  not  a  whole  act  of  the  man. 
But  that  which  I  call  right  or  goodness  is  the 
choice  of  my  constitution  ;  and  that  which  I  call 
heaven,,  and  inwardly  aspire  after,  is  the  state  or 
circumstance  desirable  to  my  constitution  ;  and  the 
action  which  I  in  all  my  years  tend  to  do,  is  the 
work  for  my  faculties.  We  must  hold  a  man  ame- 


126  ESSAY   IV. 

nable  to  reason  for  the  choice  of  his  daily  craft  or 
profession.  It  is  not  an  excuse  any  longer  for  his 
deeds,  that  they  are  the  custom  of  his  trade.  What 
business  has  he  with  an  evil  trade  ?  Has  he  not  a 
calling  in  his  character. 

Each  man  has  his  own  vocation.  The  talent  is 
the  call.  There  is  one  direction  in  which  all  space 
is  open  to  him.  He  has  faculties  silently  inviting 
him  thither  to  endless  exertion.  He  is  like  a  ship 
in  a  river  ;  he  runs  against  obstructions  on  every  side 
but  one  ;  on  that  side  all  obstruction  is  taken  away, 
and  he  sweeps  serenely  over  a  deepening  channel 
into  an  infinite  sea.  This  talent  and  this  call  depend 
on  his  organization,  or  the  mode  in  which  the  general 
soui  incarnates  itself  in  him.  He  inclines  to  do 
something  which  is  easy  to  him,  and  good,  when  it 
is  done,  but  which  no  other  man  can  do.  He  has 
no  rival.'  £or  the  more  truly  he  consults  his  own 
powers,  t}re  more  difference  will  his  work  exhibit 
from  the  work  of  any  other.  His  ambition  is  ex 
actly  proportioned  to  his  powers.  The  height  of 
the  pinnacle  is  determined  by  the  breadth  of  the 
base.  Every  man  has  this  call  of  the  power  to  do 
somewhat  unique,  and  no  man  has  any  other  call. 
The  pretence  that  he  has  another  call,  a  summons 
byname  and  personal  election  and  outward  "signs 
that  mark  him  extraordinary,  and  not  in  the  roll  of 
common  men,"  is  fanaticism,  and  betrays  obtuse- 


SPIRITUAL   LAWS.  127 

ness  to  perceive  that  there  is  one  mind  in  all  the 
individuals,  and  no  respect  of  persons  therein. 

By  doing  his  work,  he  makes  the  need  felt  which 
he  can  supply,  and  creates  the  taste  by  which  he 
is  enjoyed.  By  doing  his  own  work,  he  unfolds 
himself.  It  is  the  vice  of  our  public  speaking  that 
it  has  not  abandonment.  Somewhere,  not  only 
every  orator  but  every  man  should  let  out  all  the 
length  of  all  the  reins  ;  should  find  or  make  a  frank 
and  hearty  expression  of  what  force  and  meaning  is 
in  him.  The  common  experience  is,  that  the  man 
fits  himself  as  well  as  he  can  to  the  customary  de 
tails  of  that  work  or  trade  he  falls  into,  and  tends  it 
as  a  dog  turns  a  spit.  Then  is  he  a  part  of  the 
machine  he  moves  ;  the  man  is  lost.  Until  he  can 
manage  to  communicate  himself  to  others  in  his  full 
stature  and  proportion,  he  does  not  yet  find  his  voca 
tion.  He  must  find  in  that  an  outlet  for  his  charac 
ter,  so  that  he  may  justify  his  work  to  their  eyes. 
If  the  labor  is  mean,  let  him  by  his  thinking  and 
character  make  it  liberal.  Whatever  he  knows  and 
thinks,  whatever  in  his  apprehension  is  worth  doing, 
that  let  him  communicate,  or  men  will  never  know 
and  honor  him  aright.  Foolish,  whenever  you  take 
the  meanness  and  formality  of  that  thing  you  do,  in 
stead  of  converting  it  into  the  obedient  spiracle  of 
your  character  and  aims. 

We  like  only  such  actions  as  have  already  long 


128  ESSAY    IV. 

had  the  praise  of  men,  and  do  not  perceive  that  any 
thing  man  can  do  may  be  divinely  done.  We  think 
greatness  entailed  or  organized  in  some  places  or 
duties,  in  certain  offices  or  occasions,  and  do  not  see 
that  Paganini  can  extract  rapture  from  a  catgut,  and 
Eulenstein  from  a  jews-harp,  and  a  nimble-fingered 
lad  out  of  shreds  of  paper  with  his  scissors,  and 
Landseer  out  of  swine,  and  the  hero  out  of  the  pit 
iful  habitation  and  company  in  which  he  was  hid 
den.  What  we  call  obscure  condition  or  vulgar 
society  is  that  condition  and  society  whose  poe 
try  is  not  yet  written,  but  which  you  shall  presently 
make  as  enviable  and  renowned  as  any.  In  our 
estimates,  let  us  take  a  lesson  from  kings.  The 
parts  of  hospitality,  the  connection  of  families,  the 
impressiveness  of  death,  and  a  thousand  other  things, 
royalty  makes  its  own  estimate  of,  and  a  royal  mind 
will.  To  make  habitually  a  new  estimate,  —  that  is 
elevation. 

What  a  man  does,  that  he  has.  What  has  he  to 
•  do  with  hope  or  fear  ?  In  himself  is  his  might. 
Let  him  regard  no  good  as  solid,  but  that  which 
is  in  his  nature,  and  which  must  grow  out  of  him 
as  long  as  he  exists.  The  goods  of  fortune  may 
come  and  go  like  summer  leaves  ;  let  him  scatter 
them  on  every  wind  as  the  momentary  signs  of  his 
infinite  productiveness. 

He  may  have  his   own.     A   man's   genius,   the 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  129 

quality  that  differences  him  from  every  other,  the 
susceptibility  to  one  class  of  influences,  the  se 
lection  of  what  is  fit  for  him,  the  rejection  of  what 
is  unfit,  determines  for  him  the  character  of  the 
universe.  A  man  is  a  method,  a  progressive  ar 
rangement  ;  a  selecting  principle,  gathering  his  like 
to  him,  wherever  he  goes.  He  takes  only  his  own 
out  of  the  multiplicity  that  sweeps  and  circles  round 
him.  He  is  like  one  of  those  booms  which  are  set 
out  from  the  shore  on  rivers  to  catch  drift-wood, 
or  like  the  loadstone  amongst  splinters  of  steel. 
Those  facts,  words,  persons,  which  dwell  in  his 
memory  without  his  being  able  to  say  why,  remain, 
because  they  have  a  relation  to  him  not  less  real  for 
being  as  yet  unapprehended.  They  are  symbols  of 
value  to  him,  as  they  can  interpret  parts  of  his  con 
sciousness  which  he  would  vainly  seek  words  for  in 
the  conventional  images  of  books  and  other  minds. 
What  attracts  my  attention  shall  have  it,  as  I  will 
go  to  the  man  who  knocks  at  my  door,  whilst  a 
thousand  persons,  as  worthy,  go  by  it,  to  whom 
I  give  no  regard.  It  is  enough  that  these  par 
ticulars  speak  to  me.  A  few  anecdotes,  a  few 
traits  of  character,  manners,  face,  a  few  incidents, 
have  an  emphasis  in  your  memory  out  of  all  pro 
portion  to  their  apparent  significance,  if  you  meas 
ure  them  by  the  ordinary  standards.  They  relate 
to  your  gift.  Let  them  have  their  weight,  and  do 
9 


130  ESSAY    IV. 

not  reject  them,  and  cast  about  for  illustration  and 
facts  more  usual  in  literature.  What  your  heart 
thinks  great  is  great.  The  soul's  emphasis  is  al 
ways  right. 

Over  all  things  that  are  agreeable  to  his  nature  and 
genius,  the  man  has  the  highest  right.  Everywhere 
he  may  take  what  belongs  to  his  spiritual  estate,  nor 
can  he  take  any  thing  else,  though  all  doors  were 
open,  nor  can  all  the  force  of  men  hinder  him  from 
taking  so  much.  It  is  vain  to  attempt  to  keep  a  se 
cret  from  one  who  has  a  right  to  know  it.  It  will 
tell  itself.  That  mood  into  which  a  friend  can 
bring  us  is  his  dominion  over  us.  To  the  thoughts 
of  that  state  of  mind  he  has  a  right.  All  the  se- 
crets^of  that  state  of  mind  he  can  compel.  This 
is  a* Taw  which  statesmen  use  in  practice.  All  the 
terrors  of  the  French  Republic,  which  held  Austria 
in  awe,  were  unable  to  command  her  diplomacy. 
But  Napoleon  sent  to  Vienna  M.  de  Narbonne,  one 
of  the  old  noblesse,  with  the  morals,  manners,  and 
name  of  that  interest,  saying,  that  it  was  indispensa 
ble  to  send  to  the  old  aristocracy  of  Europe  men 
of  the  same  connection,  which,  in  fact,  constitutes  a 
sort  of  free-masonry.  M.  de  Narbonne,  in  less  than 
a  fortnight,  penetrated  all  the  secrets  of  the  imperial 
cabinet. 

Nothing  seems  so  easy  as  to  speak  and  to  be  un 
derstood.  Yet  a  man  may  come  to  find  that  the 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  LSI 

strongest  of  defences  and  of  ties,  —  that  he  has  been 
understood  ;  and  he  who  has  received  an  opinion 
may  come  to  find  it  the  most  inconvenient  of  bonds. 

If  a  teacher  have  any  opinion  which  he  wishes  to 
conceal,  his  pupils  will  become  as  fully  indoctrinated 
into  that  as  into  any  which  he  publishes.  If  you 
pour  water  into  a  vessel  twisted  into  coils  and 
angles,  it  is  vain  to  say,  I  will  pour  it  only  into  this 
or  that ;  —  it  will  find  its  level  in  all.  Men  feel  and 
act  the  consequences  of  your  doctrine,  without  being 
able  to  show  how  they  follow.  Show  us  an  arc  of 
the  curve,  and  a  good  mathematician  will  find  out  the 
whole  figure.  We  are  always  reasoning  from  the 
seen  to  the  unseen.  Hence  the  perfect  intelli 
gence  that  subsists  between  wise  men  of  remote 
ages.  A  man  cannot  bury  his  meanings  so  deep 
in  his  book,  but  time  and  like-minded  men  will 
find  them.  Plato  had  a  secret  doctrine,  had  he  ? 
What  secret  can  he  conceal  from  the  eyes  of 
Bacon  ?  of  Montaigne  ?  of  Kant  ?  Therefore, 
Aristotle  said  of  his  works,  "  They  are  publish 
ed  and  not  published." 

No  man  can  learn  what  he  has  not  prepara 
tion  for  learning,  however  near  to  his  eyes  is  the  • 
object.  A  chemist  may  tell  his  most  precious  se 
crets  to  a  carpenter,  and  he  shall  be  never  the 
wiser,  —  the  secrets  he  would  not  utter  to  a  chem 
ist  for  an  estate.  God  screens  us  evermore  from 


132 


ESSAY    IV. 


premature  ideas.  Our  eyes  are  holden  that  we  can 
not  see  things  that  stare  us  in  the  face,  until  the  hour 
arrives  when  the  mind  is  ripened  ;  then  we  behold 
them,  and  the  time  when  we  saw  them  not  is  like 
a  dream. 

Not  in  nature  but  in  man  is  all  the  beauty  and 
worth  he  sees.  The  world  is  very  empty,  and  is 
indebted  to  this  gilding,  exalting  soul  for  all  its  pride. 
"  Earth  fills  her  lap  with  splendors"  not  her  own. 
The  vale  of  Tempe,  Tivoli,  and  Rome  are  earth 
and  water,  rocks  and  sky.  There  are  as  good 
earth  and  water  in  a  thousand  places,  yet  how  un- 
affecting  ! 

People  are  not  the  better  for  the  sun  and  moon, 
the  horizon  and  the  trees  ;  as  it  is  not  observed  that 
the  keepers  of  Roman  galleries,  or  the  valets  of 
painters,  have  any  elevation  of  thought,  or  that  li 
brarians  are  wiser  men  than  others.  There  are 
graces  in  the  demeanour  of  a  polished  and  noble 
person,  which  are  lost  upon  the  eye  of  a  churl. 
These  are  like  the  stars  whose  light  has  not  yet 
reached  us. 

He  may  see  what  he  maketh.  Our  dreams  are 
the  sequel  of  our  waking  knowledge.  The  visions 
of  the  night  bear  some  proportion  to  the  visions  of 
the  day.  Hideous  dreams  are  exaggerations^^iL 
the  sins  of  the  day.  We  see  our  evil  affections 
embodied  in  bad  physiognomies.  On  the  Alps, 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  133 

the  traveller  sometimes  beholds  his  own  shadow 
magnified  to  a  giant,  so  that  every  gesture  of  his 
hand  is  terrific.  "  My  children,"  said  an  old  man 
to  his  boys  scared  by  a  figure  in  the  dark  entry, 
"my  children,  you  will  never  see  any  thing  worse 
than  yourselves."  As  in  dreams,  so  in  the  scarcely 
less  fluid  events  of  the  world,  every  man  sees  him-  j 
self  in  colossal,  without  knowing  that  it  is  himself.  1 
The  good,  compared  to  the  evil  which  he  sees,  is  as 
his  own  good  to  his  own  evil.  Every  quality  of  his 
mind  is  magnified  in  some  one  acquaintance,  and  1 
every  emotion  of  his  heart  in  some  one.  He  is 
like  a  quincunx  of  trees,  which  counts  five,  east, 
west,  north,  or  south ;  or,  an  initial,  medial,  and 
terminal  acrostic.  And  why  not  ?  He  cleaves  to 
one  person,  and  avoids  another,  according  to  their 
likeness  or  unlikeness  to  himself,  truly  seeking  him 
self  in  his  associates,  and  moreover  in  his  trade,  and 
habits,  and  gestures,  and  meats,  and  drinks  ;  and 
comes  at  last  to  be  faithfully  represented  by  every 
view  you  take  of  his  circumstances. 

He  may  read  what  he  writes.  What  can  we  see 
or  acquire,  but  what  we  are  ?  You  have  observed  a 
skilful  man  reading  Virgil.  Well,  that  author  is  a 
thousand  books  to  a  thousand  persons.  Take  the 
book  into  your  two  hands,  and  read  your  eyes  out ; 
you  will  never  find  what  I  find.  If  any  ingenious 
reader  would  have  a  monopoly  of  the  wisdom  or 


134  ESSAY    IV. 

delight  he  gets,  he  is  as  secure  now  the  book  is 
Englished,  as  if  it  were  imprisoned  in  the  Pelews' 
tongue.  It  is  with  a  good  book  as  it  is  with  good 
company.  Introduce  a  base  person  among  gen 
tlemen  ;  it  is  all  to  no  purpose  ;  he  is  not  their 
fellow.  Ev£ry  society  protects  itself.  The  com 
pany  is  perfectly  safe,  and  he  is  not  one  of  them, 
though  his  body  is  in  the  room. 

What  avails  it  to  fight  with  the  eternal  laws  of 
mind,  which  adjust  the  relation  of  all  persons  to 
each  other,  by  the  mathematical  measure  of  their 
havings  and  beings  ?  Gertrude  is  enamoured  of 
Guy  ;  how  high,  how  aristocratic,  how  Roman  his 
mien  and  manners  !  to  live  with  him  were  life  in 
deed,  and  no  purchase  is  too  great  ;  and  heaven 
and  earth  are  moved  to  that  end.  Well,  Gertrude 
has  Guy  ;  but  what  now  avails  how  high,  how 
aristocratic,  how  Roman  his  mien  and  manners, 
if  his  heart  and  aims  are  in  the  senate,  in  the  theatre, 
and  in  the  billiard-room,  and  she  has  no  aims,  no 
conversation,  that  can  enchant  her  graceful  lord  ? 

He  shall  have  his  own  society.  We  can  love 
nothing  but  nature.  The  most  wonderful  talents, 
the  most  meritorious  exertions,  really  avail  very 
little  with  us  ;  but  nearness  or  likeness  of  nature,  — 
how  beautiful  is  the  ease  of  its  victory  !  Persons 
approach  us  famous  for  their  beauty,  for  their  ac 
complishments,  worthy  of  all  wonder  for  their 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS. 


135 


charms  and  gifts  ;  they  dedicate  their  whole  skill 
to  the  hour  and  the  company,  with  very  imperfect 
result.  To  be  sure,  it  would  be  ungrateful  in  us 
not  to  praise  them  loudly.  Then,  when  all  is 
done,  a  person  of  related  mind,  a  brother  or  sister 
by  nature,  comes  to  us  so  softly  and  easily,  so 
nearly  and  intimately,  as  if  it  were  the  blood  in 
our  proper  veins,  that  we  feel  as  if  some  one  was 
gone,  instead  of  another  having  come  ;  we  are 
utterly  relieved  and  refreshed  ;  it  is  a  sort  of  joyful 
solitude.  We  foolishly  think  in  our  days  of  sin, 
that  we  must  court  friends  by  compliance  to  the 
customs  of  society,  to  its  dress,  its  breeding,  and 
its  estimates.  But  only  that  soul  can  be  my  friend 
which  I  encounter  on  the  line  of  my  own  march, 
that  soul  to  which  I  do  not  decline,  and  which 
does  not  decline  to  me,  but,  native  of  the  same 
celestial  latitude,  repeats  in  its  own  all  my  experi 
ence.  The  scholar  forgets  himself,  and  apes  the 
customs  and  costumes  of  the  man  of  the  world, 
to  deserve  the  smile  of  beauty,  and  follows  some 
giddy  girl,  not  yet  taught  by  religious  passion  to 
know  the  noble  woman  with  all  that  is  serene,  orac 
ular,  and  beautiful  in  her  soul.  Let  him  be  great, 
and  love  shall  follow  him.  Nothing  is  more  deeply 
punished  than  the  neglect  of  the  affinities  by  which 
alone  society  should  be  formed,  and  the  insane  levity 
of  choosing  associates  by  others'  eyes. 


136 


ESSAY    IV. 


He  may  set  his  own  rate.     It  is  a  maxim  worthy 
of  all  acceptation,   that  a  man    may  have    that    al 
lowance  he   takes!       Take  the   place    and  attitude 
which  belong  to  you,  and  all  men  acquiesce.      The 
world    must   be   just.     It   leaves    every   man,  with 
profound    unconcern,    to   set   his   own  rate.     Hero 
{   or  driveller,  it  meddles  not  in  the  matter.     It  will 
certainly   accept  your  own  measure   of  your  doing 
/  and  being,  whether  you  sneak  about  and  deny  your 
Vown  name,  or  whether  you  see  your  work  produced 
to  the  concave  sphere  of  the  heavens,  one  with  the 
revolution  of  the  stars. 

The  same  reality  pervades  all  teaching.  The 
man  may  teach  by  doing,  and  not  otherwise.  If 
he  can  communicate  himself,  he  can  teach,  but  not 
by  words.  He  teaches  who  gives,  and  he  learns 
I  who  receives.  There  is  no  teaching  until  the  pupil 
is  brought  into  the  same  state  or  principle  in  which 
you  are  ;  a  transfusion  takes  place  ;  he  is  you,  and 
jou  are  he  ;  then  is  a  teaching  ;  and  by  no  unfriend 
ly  chance  or  bad  company  can  he  ever  quite  lose 
the  benefit.  But  your  propositions  run  out  of  one 
ear  as  they  ran  in  at  the  other.  We  see  it  adver 
tised  that  Mr.  Grand  will  deliver  an  oration  on  the 
Fourth  of  July,  and  Mr.  Hand  before  the  Mechan 
ics'  Association,  and  we  do  not  go  thither,  because 
we  know  that  these  gentlemen  will  not  communi 
cate  their  own  character  and  experience  to  the  com- 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  137 

pany.  If  we  had  reason  to  expect  such  a  con 
fidence,  we  should  go  through  all  inconvenience 
and  opposition.  The  sick  would  be  carried  in  lit 
ters.  But  a  public  oration  is  an  escapade,  a  non 
committal,  an  apology,  a  gag,  and  not  a  communica 
tion,  not  a  speech,  not  a  man. 

A  like  Nemesis  presides  over  all  intellectual 
works.  We  have  yet  to  learn,  that  the  thing  uttered 
in  words  is  not  therefore  affirmed.  It  must  affirm 
itself,  or  no  forms  of  logic  or  of  oath  can  give  it 
evidence.  The  sentence  must  also  contain  its  own 
apology  for  being  spoken. 

The  effect  of  any  writing  on  the  public  mind 
is  mathematically  measurable  by  its  depth  of  thought. 
How  much  water  does  it  draw  ?  If  it  awaken  you 
to  think,  if  it  lift  you  from  your  feet  with  the  great 
voice  of  eloquence,  then  the  effect  is  to  be  wide, 
slow,  permanent,  over  the  minds  of  men  ;  if  the 
pages  instruct  you  not,  they  will  die  like  flies  in 
the  hour.  The  way  to  speak  and  write  what  shall 
not  go  out  of  fashion  is,  to  speak  and  write  sin-  I 
cerely.  The  argument  which  has  not  power  to 
reach  my  own  practice,  I  may  well  doubt,  will 
fail  to  reach  yours.  But  take  Sidney's  maxim  :  — 
"Look  in  thy  heart,  and  write."  He  that  writes 
to  himself  writes  to  an  eternal  public.  That  state 
ment  only  is  fit  to  be  made  public,  which  you  have 
come  at  in  attempting  to  satisfy  your  own  curiosity. 


138  ESSAY    IV. 

The  writer  who  takes  his  subject  from  his  ear,  and 
not  from  his  heart,  should  know  that  he  has  lost 
as  much  as  he  seems  to  have  gained,  and  when 
the  empty  book  has  gathered  all  its  praise,  and 
half  the  people  say,  c  What  poetry  !  what  genius  ! ' 
it  still  needs  fuel  to  make  fire.  That  only  profits 
which  is  profitable.  Life  alone  can  impart  life  ; 
and  though  we  should  burst,  we  can  only  be  val 
ued  as  we  make  ourselves  valuable.  There  is  no 
luck  in  literary  reputation.  They  who  make  up 
the  final  verdict  upon  every  book  are  not  the  par 
tial  and  noisy  readers  of  the  hour  when  it  appears  ; 
but  a  court  as  of  angels,  a  public  not  to  be  bribed, 
not  to  be  entreated,  and  not  to  be  overawed,  de 
cides  upon  every  man's  title  to  fame.  Only  those 
books  .come  down  which  deserve  to  last.  Gilt 
edges,  vellum,  and  morocco,  and  presentation-copies 
to  all  the  libraries,  will  not  preserve  a  book  in  cir 
culation  beyond  its  intrinsic  date.  It  must  go  with 
all  Walpole's  Noble  and  Royal  Authors  to  its  fate. 
Blackmore,  Kotzebue,  or  Pollok  may  endure  for  a 
night,  but  Moses  and  Homer  stand  for  ever.  There 
are  not  in  the  world  at  any  one  time  more  than 
a  dozen  persons  who  read  and  understand  Plato  :  — 
never  enough  to  pay  for  an  edition  of  his  works  ; 
yet  to  every  generation  these  come  duly  down, 
for  the  sake  of  those  few  persons,  as  if  God 
brought  them  in  his  hand.  "  No  book,"  said  Bent- 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  139 

ley,  "  was  ever  written  down  by  any  but  itself." 
The  permanence  of  all  books  is  fixed  by  no  effort 
friendly  or  hostile,  but  by  their  own  specific  grav 
ity,  or  the  intrinsic  importance  of  their  contents  to 
the  constant  mind  of  man.  "  Do  not  trouble  your 
self  too  much  about  the  light  on  your  statue,"  said 
Michel  Angelo  to  the  young  sculptor  ;  "  the  light 
of  the  public  square  will  test  its  value." 

In  like  manner  the  effect  of  every  action  is  meas 
ured  by  the  depth  of  the  sentiment  from  which  it 
proceeds.  The  great  man  knew  not  that  he  was 
great.  It  took  a  century  or  two  for  that  fact  to 
appear.  What  he  did,  he  did  because  he  must ; 
it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  and  grew 
out  of  the  circumstances  of  the  moment.  But  now, 
every  thing  he  did,  even  to  the  lifting  of  his  finger 
or  the  eating  of  bread,  looks  large,  all-related,  and  is 
called  an  institution. 

These  are  the  demonstrations  in  a  few  particulars 
of  the  genius  of  nature  ;  they  show  the  direction  of 
the  stream.  But  the  stream  is  blood  ;  every  drop  is 
alive.  Truth  has  not  single  victories  ;  all  things  are 
its  organs,  —  not  only  dust  and  stones,  but  errors 
and  lies.  The  laws  of  disease,  physicians  say,  are 
as  beautiful  as  the  laws  of  health.  Our  philosophy  is 
affirmative,  and  readily  accepts  the  testimony  of  neg 
ative  facts,  as  every  shadow  points  to  the  sun.  By 
_a_divine  necessity,  every  fact  in  nature  is  constrained 
to.  offer  its  testimony. 


140  ESSAY    IV. 

Human  character  evermore  publishes  itself.  The 
most  fugitive  deed  and  word,  the  mere  air  of  doing  a 
thing,  the  intimated  purpose,  expresses  character. 
If  you  act,  you  show  character  ;  if  you  sit  still,  if 
you  sleep,  you  show  it.  You  think,  because  you 
have  spoken  nothing  when  others  spoke,  and  have 
given  no  opinion  on  the  times,  on  the  church,  on 
slavery,  on  marriage,  on  socialism,  on  secret  socie 
ties,  on  the  college,  on  parties  and  persons,  that  your 
verdict  is  still  expected  with  curiosity  as  a  reserved 
wisdom.  Far  otherwise  ;  your  silence  answers  very 
loud.  You  have  no  oracle  to  utter,  and  your  fellow- 
men  have  learned  that  you  cannot  help  them  ;  for, 
oracles  speak.  Doth  not  wisdom  cry,  and  under 
standing  put  forth  her  voice  ? 

Dreadful  limits  are  set  in  nature  to  the  powers  of 
dissimulation.  Truth  tyrannizes  over  the  unwilling 
members  of  the  body.  Faces  never  lie,  it  is  said. 
No  man  need  be  deceived,  who  will  study  the 
changes  of  expression.  When  a  man  speaks  the 
truth  in  the  spirit  of  truth,  his  eye  is  as  clear  as  the 
heavens.  When  he  has  base  ends,  and  speaks  false 
ly,  the  eye  is  muddy  and  sometimes  asquint. 

I  have  heard  an  experienced  counsellor  say,  that 
he  never  feared  the  effect  upon  a  jury  of  a  lawyer 
who  does  not  believe  in  his  heart  that  his  client  ought 
to  have  a  verdict.  If  "he  does  not  believe  it,  his  un 
belief  will  appear  to  the  jury,  despite  all  his  protesta- 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  141 

tions,  and  will  become  their  unbelief.  This  is  that 
law  whereby  a  work  of  art,  of  whatever  kind,  sets  us 
in  the  same  state  of  mind  wherein  the  artist  was 
when  he  made  it.  That  which  we  do  not  believe, 
we  cannot  adequately  say,  though  we  may  repeat  the 
words  never  so  often.  It  was  this  conviction  which 
Swedenborg  expressed,  when  he  described  a  group 
of  persons  in  the  spiritual  world  endeavouring  in  vain 
to  articulate  a  proposition  which  they  did  not  believe; 
but  they  could  not,  though  they  twisted  and  folded 
their  lips  even  to  indignation. 

A  man  passes  for  that  he  is  worth.  Very  idle  is 
all  curiosity  concerning  other  people's  estimate  of  us, 
and  all  fear  of  remaining  unknown  is  not  less  so.  If 
a  man  know  that  he  can  do  any  thing,  —  that  he  can 
do  it  better  than  any  one  else,  —  he  has  a  pledge  of 
the  acknowledgment  of  that  fact  by  all  persons. 
The  world  is  full  of  judgment-days,  and  into  every 
assembly  that  a  man  enters,  in  every  action  he  at 
tempts,  he  is  gauged  and  stamped.  In  every  troop 
of  boys  that  whoop  and  run  in  each  yard  and  square, 
a  new-comer  is  as  well  and  accurately  weighed  in  the 
course  of  a  few  days,  and  stamped  with  his  right 
number,  as  if  he  had  undergone  a  formal  trial  of  his 
strength,  speed,  and  temper.  A  stranger  comes 
from  a  distant  school,  with  better  dress,  with  trinkets 
in  his  pockets,  with  airs  and  pretensions  :  an  older 
boy  says  to  himself,  '  It  's  of  no  use  ;  we  shall  find 


142  ESSAY    IV. 

him  out  to-morrow.'  '  What  has  he  done  ? '  is  the 
divine  question  which  searches  men,  and  transpierces 
every  false  reputation.  A  fop  may  sit  in  any  chair 
of  the  world,  nor  be  distinguished  for  his  hour  from 
Homer  and  Washington  ;  but  there  need  never  be 
any  doubt  concerning  the  respective  ability  of  human 
beings.  Pretension  may  sit  still,  but  cannot  act. 
Pretension  never  feigned  an  act  of  real  greatness. 
Pretension  never  wrote  an  Iliad,  nor  drove  back 
Xerxes,  nor  christianized  the  world,  nor  abolished 
slavery. 

As  much  virtue  as  there  is,  so  much  appears  ;  as 
much  goodness  as  there  is,  so  much  reverence  it 
commands.  All  the  devils  respect  virtue.  The 
high,  the  generous,  the  self-devoted  sect  will  always 
instruct  and  command  mankind.  Never  was  a  sin 
cere  word  utterly  lost.  Never  a  magnanimity  fell  to 
the  ground,  but  there  is  some  heart  to  greet  and  ac 
cept  it  unexpectedly.  A  man  passes  for  that  he  is 
worth.  What  he  is  engraves  itself  on  his  face,  on  his 
form,  on  his  fortunes,  in  letters  of  light.  Conceal 
ment  avails  him  nothing  ;  boasting  nothing.  There  is 
confession  in  the  glances  of  our  eyes  ;  in  our  smiles  ; 
in  salutations  ;  and  the  grasp  of  hands.  His  sin 
bedaubs  him,  mars  all  his  good  impression.  Men 
know  not  why  they  do  not  trust  him  ;  but  they  do 
not  trust  him.  His  vice  glasses  his  eye,  cuts  lines 
of  mean  expression  in  his  cheek,  pinches  the  nose, 


SPIRITUAL     LAWS.  143 

sets  the  mark  of  the  beast  on  the  back  of  the  head, 
and  writes  O  fool  !  fool  !  on  the  forehead  of  a  king. 

If  you  would  not  be  known  to  do  any  thing,  never 
do  it.  A  man  may  play  the  fool  in  the  drifts  of  a 
desert,  but  every  grain  of  sand  shall  seem  to  see. 
He  may  be  a  solitary  eater,  but  he  cannot  keep  his 
foolish  counsel.  A  broken  complexion,  a  swinish 
look,  ungenerous  acts,  and  the  want  of  due  knowl 
edge,  —  all  blab.  \Can  a  cook,  a  Chiffinch,  an 
lachimo  be  mistaken  for  Zeno  or  Paul  ?  Confucius 
exclaimed,  —  "  How  can  a  man  be  concealed  ! 
How  can  a  man  be  concealed  !  " 

On  the  other  hand,  the  hero  fears  not,  that,  if  he 
withhold  the  avowal  of  a  just  and  brave  act,  it  will 
go  unwitnessed  and  unloved.  One  knows  it,  —  him 
self,  —  and  is  pledged  by  it  to  sweetness  of  peace, 
and  to  nobleness  of  aim,  which  will  prove  in  the  end 
a  better  proclamation  of  it  than  the  relating  of  the 
incident.  Virtue  is  the  adherence  in  action  to  the 
nature  of  things,  and  the  nature  of  tilings  makes  it 
prevalent.  It  consists  in  a  perpetual  substitution  of 
being  for  seeming,  and  with  sublime  propriety  God  is 
described  as  saying,  I  AM. 

The  lesson  which  these  observations  convey  is, 
Be,  and  not  seem.  Let  us  acquiesce.  Let  us  take 
our  bloated  nothingness  out  of  the  path  of  the  divine 
circuits.  Let  us  unlearn  our  wisdom  of  the  world. 
Let  us  lie  low  in  the  Lord's  power,  and  learn  that 
truth  alone  makes  rich  and  great. 


144  ESSAY    IV. 

If  you  visit  your  friend,  why  need  you  apologize 
for  not  having  visited  him,  and  waste  his  time  and 
deface  your  own  act  ?  Visit  him  now.  Let  him  feel 
that  the  highest  love  has  come  to  see  him,  in  thee,  its 
lowest  organ.  Or  why  need  you  torment  yourself 
and  friend  by  secret  self-reproaches  that  you  have 
not  assisted  him  or  complimented  him  with  gifts  and 
salutations  heretofore  ?  Be  a  gift  and  a  benediction. 
Shine  with  real  light,  and  not  w^th  the  borrowed  re 
flection  of  gifts.  Common  men  are  apologies  for 
men  ;  they  bow  the  head,  excuse  themselves  with 
prolix  reasons,  and  accumulate  appearances,  because 
the  substance  is  not. 

We  are  full  of  these  superstitions  of  sense,  the 
worship  of  magnitude.  We  call  the  poet  inactive, 
because  he  is  not  a  president,  a  merchant,  or  a  por 
ter.  We  adore  an  institution,  and  do  not  see  that  it 
is  founded  on  a  thought  which  we  have.  But  real 
action  is  in  silent  moments.  The  epochs  of  our  life 
are  not  in  the  visible  facts  of  our  choice  of  a  calling, 
our  marriage,  our  acquisition  of  an  office,  and  the 
like,  but  in  a  silent  thought  by  the  way-side  as  we 
walk  ;  in  a  thought  which  revises  our  entire  manner 
of  life,  and  says,  —  c  Thus  hast  thou  done,  but  it 
were  better  thus.'  And  all  our  after  years,  like 
menials,  serve  and  wait  on  this,  and,  according  to 
their  ability,  execute  its  will.  This  revisal  or  cor 
rection  is  a  constant  force,  which,  as  a  tendency, 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  145 

reaches  through  our  lifetime.  The  object  of  the 
man,  the  aim  of  these  moments,  is  to  make  daylight 
shine  through  him,  to  suffer  the  law  to  traverse  his 
whole  being  without  obstruction,  so  that,  on  what 
point  soever  of  his  doing  your  eye  falls,  it  shall  re 
port  truly  of  his  character,  whether  it  be  his  diet,  his 
house,  his  religious  forms,  his  society,  his  mirth,  his 
vote,  his  opposition.  Now  he  is  not  homogeneous, 
but  heterogeneous,  and  the  ray  does  not  traverse  ; 
there  are  no  thorough  lights  :  but  the  eye  of  the 
beholder  is  puzzled,  detecting  many  unlike  tenden 
cies,  and  a  life  not  yet  at  one. 

Why  should  we  make  it  a  point  with  our  false 
modesty  to  disparage  that  man  we  are,  and  that  form 
of  being  assigned  to  us  ?  A  good  man  is  contented. 
I  love  and  honor  Epaminondas,  but  I  do  not  wish  to 
be  Epaminondas.  I  hold  it  more  just  to  love  the 
world  of  this  hour,  than  the  world  of  his  hour.  Nor 
can  you,  if  I  am  true,  excite  me  to  the  least  uneasi 
ness  by  saying,  c  He  acted,  and  thou  sittest  still.'  I 
see  action  to  be  good,  when  the  need  is,  and  sitting 
still  to  be  also  good.  Epaminondas,  if  he  was  the 
man  I  take  him  for,  would  have  sat  still  with  joy  and 
peace,  if  his  lot  had  been  mine.  Heaven  is  large, 
and  affords  space  for  all  modes  of  love  and  fortitude. 
Why  should  we  be  busybodies  and  superservice- 
able  ?  Action  and  inaction  are  alike  to  the  true. 
One  piece  of  the  tree  is  cut  for  a  weathercock,  and 
10 


146  ESSAY    IV. 

one  for  the  sleeper  of  a  bridge  ;  the  virtue  of  the 
wood  is  apparent  in  both. 

I  desire  not  to  disgrace  the  soul.  The  fact  that  I 
ani~Eere  certainly  shows  me  that  the  soul  had  need 
of  an  organ  here.  Shall  I  not  assume  the  post  ? 
Shall  I  skulk  and  dodge  and  duck  with  my  unsea 
sonable  apologies  and  vain  modesty,  and  imagine 
my  being  here  impertinent  ?  less  pertinent  than 
Epaminondas  or  Homer  being  there  ?  and  that 
the  soul  did  not  know  its  own  needs  ?  Besides, 
without  any  reasoning  on  the  matter,  I  have  no 
discontent.  The  good  soul  nourishes  me,  and  un 
locks  new  magazines  of  power  and  enjoyment  to 
me  every  day.  I  will  not  meanly  decline  the  im 
mensity  of  good,  because  I  have  heard  that  it  has 
come  to  others  in  another  shape. 

Besides,  why  should  we  be  cowed  by  the  name 
of  Action  ?  JT  is  a  trick  of  the  senses,  —  no 
more.  We  know  that  the  ancestor  of  every  action 
is  a  thought.  The  poor  mind  does  not  seem  to  it 
self  to  be  any  thing,  unless  it  have  an  outside  badge, 
—  some  Gentoo  diet,  or  Quaker  coat,  or  Calvinistic 
prayer-meeting,  or  philanthropic  society,  or  a  great 
donation,  or  a  high  office,  or,  any  how,  some  wild 
contrasting  action  to  testify  that  it  is  somewhat.  The 
rich  mind  lies  in  the  sun  and  sleeps,  and  is  Nature. 
To  think  is  to  act. 

Let  us,  if  we  must  have  great  actions,  make  our 


SPIRITUAL    LAWS.  147 

own  so.  All  action  is  of  an  infinite  elasticity,  and 
the  least  admits  of  being  inflated  with  the  celestial 
air  until  it  eclipses  the  sun  and  moon.  Let  us  seek 
one  peace  by  fidelity.  Let  me  heed  my  duties. 
Why  need  I  go  gadding  into  the  scenes  and  philos 
ophy  of  Greek  and  Italian  history,  before  I  have 
justified  myself  to  my  benefactors  ?  How  dare  I 
read  Washington's  campaigns,  when  I  have  not  an 
swered  the  letters  of  my  own  correspondents  ?  Is 
not  that  a  just  objection  to  much  of  our  reading  ? 
It  is  a  pusillanimous  desertion  of  our  work  to  gaze 
after  our  neighbours.  It  is  peeping.  Byron  says 
of  Jack  Bunting,  — 

"He  knew  not  what  to  say,  and  so  he  swore." 

I  may  say  it  of  our  preposterous  use  of  books,  —  He 
knew  not  what  to  do,  and  so  he  read.  I  can  think 
of  nothing  to  fill  my  time  with,  and  I  find  the  Life 
of  Brant.  It  is  a  very  extravagant  compliment  to 
pay  to  Brant,  or  to  General  Schuyler,  or  to  General 
Washington.  My  time  should  be  as  good  as  their 
time,  —  my  facts,  my  net  of  relations,  as  good  as 
theirs,  or  either  of  theirs.  Rather  let  me  do  my 
work  so  well  that  other  idlers,  if  they  choose,  may 
compare  my  texture  with  the  texture  of  these  and 
find  it  identical  with  the  best. 

This  over-estimate  of  the  possibilities  of  Paul  and 
Pericles,  this  under-estimate  of  our  own,  comes  from 
a  neglect  of  the  fact  of  an  identical  nature.  Bona- 


148  ESSAY    IV. 

parte  knew  but  one  merit,  and  rewarded  in  one  and 
the  same  way  the  good  soldier,  the  good  astronomer, 
the  good  poet,  the  good  player.  The  poet  uses  the 
names  of  Cssar,  of  Tamerlane,  of  Bonduca,  of  Bel- 
isarius  ;  the  painter  uses  the  conventional  story  of 
the  Virgin  Mary,  of  Paul,  of  Peter.  He  does  not, 
therefore,  defer  to  the  nature  of  these  accidental 
men,  of  these  stock  heroes.  If  the  poet  write  a 
true  drama,  then  he  is  Caesar,  and  not  the  player 
of  Cffisar ;  then  the  selfsame  strain  of  thought, 
emotion  as  pure,  wit  as  subtle,  motions  as  swift, 
mounting,  extravagant,  and  a  heart  as  great,  self- 
sufficing,  dauntless,  which  on  the  waves  of  its  love 
and  hope  can  uplift  all  that  is  reckoned  solid  and 
precious  in  the  world,  —  palaces,  gardens,  money, 
navies,  kingdoms,  —  marking  its  own  incomparable 
worth  by  the  slight  it  casts  on  these  gauds  of 
men,  —  these  all  are  his,  and  by  the  power  of 
these  he  rouses  the  nations.  Let  a  man  believe 
in  God,  and  not  in  names  and  places  and  persons. 
Let  the  great  soul  incarnated  in  some  woman's 
form,  poor  and  sad  and  single,  in  some  Dolly  or 
Joan,  go  out  to  service,  and  sweep  chambers  and 
scour  floors,  and  its  effulgent  daybeams  cannot  be 
muffled  or  hid,  but  to  sweep  and  scour  will  instantly 
appear  supreme  and  beautiful  actions,  the  top  and 
radiance  of  human  life,  and  all  people  will  get  mops 
and  brooms  ;  until,  lo  !  suddenly  the  great  soul  has 


SPIRITUAL   LAWS. 


149 


enshrined  itself  in  some  other  form,  and  done  some 
other  deed,  and  that  is  now  the  flower  and  head  of 
all  living  nature. 

We  are  the  photometers,  we  the  irritable  goldleaf 
and  tinfoil  that  measure  the  accumulations  of  the 
subtle  element.  We  know  the  authentic  effects  of 
the  true  fire  through  every  one  of  its  million  dis 
guises. 


LOVE. 


"  I  was  as  a  gem  concealed  ; 
Me  my  burning  ray  revealed." 

Koran. 


ESSAY   V, 
LOVE. 


EVERY  promise  of  the  soul  has  innumerable  fulfil 
ments  ;  each  of  its  joys  ripens  into  a  new  want. 
Nature,  uncontainable,  flowing,  forelooking,  in  the 
first  sentiment  of  kindness  anticipates  already  a  be 
nevolence  which  shall  lose  all  particular  regards  in 
its  general  light.  ^  The  introduction  to  this  felicity  is 
in  a  private  and  tender  relation  of  one  to  one,  which 
is  the  enchantment  of  human  life  ;  which,  like  a  cer 
tain  divine  rage  and  enthusiasm,  seizes  on  man  at  one 
period,  and  works  a  revolution  in  his  mind  and  body ; 
unites  him  to  his  race,  pledges  him  to  the  domestic 
and  civic  relations,  carries  him  with  new  sympathy 
into  nature,  enhances  the  power  of  the  senses,  opens 
the  imagination,  adds  to  his  character  heroic  and 
sacred  attributes,  establishes  marriage,  and  gives  per 
manence  to  human  society. 

The  natural  association  of  the  sentiment  of  love 
with  the  heyday  of  the  blood  seems  to  require,  that 


154  ESSAY   V. 

in  order  to  portray  it  in  vivid  tints,  which  every  youth 
and  maid  should  confess  to  be  true  to  their  throbbing 
experience,  one  must  not  be  too  old.  The  delicious 
fancies  of  youth  reject  the  least  savour  of  a  mature 
philosophy,  as  chilling  with  age  and  pedantry  their 
purple  bloom.  And,  therefore,  I  know  I  incur  the 
imputation  of  unnecessary  hardness  and  stoicism  from 
those  who  compose  the  Court  and  Parliament  of 
Love.  But  from  these  formidable  censors  I  shall 
appeal  to  my  seniors.  For  it  is  to  be  considered 
that  this  passion  of  which  we  speak,  though  it  begin 
with  the  young,  yet  forsakes  not  the  old,  or  rather 
suffers  no  one  who  is  truly  its  servant  to  grow  old, 
but  makes  the  aged  participators  of  it,  not  less  than 
the  tender  maiden,  though  in  a  different  and  nobler 
sort."!;  For  it  is  a  fire  that,  kindling  its  first  embers  in 
Se  narrow  nook  of  a  private  bosom,  caught  from  a 
wandering  spark  out  of  another  private  heart,  glows 
and  enlarges  until  it  warms  and  beams  upon  multi 
tudes  of  men  and  women,  upon  the  universal  heart 
of  all,  and  so  lights  up  the  whole  world  and  all  na 
ture  with  its  generous  flamesTj  It  matters  not,  there 
fore,  whether  we  attempt  'to  aescribe  the  passion  at 
twenty,  at  thirty,  or  at  eighty  years.  He  who 
paints  it  at  the  first  period  will  lose  some  of  its 
later,  he  who  paints  it  at  the  last,  some  of  its 
earlier  traits.  Only  it  is  to  be  hoped  that,  by  pa 
tience  and  the  Muses'  aid,  we  may  attain  to  that 


LOVE.  155 

inward  view  of  the  law,  which  shall  describe  a 
truth  ever  young  and  beautiful,  so  central  that  it 
shall  commend  itself  to  the  eye,  at  whatever  angle 
beholden. 

And  the  first  condition  is,  that  we  must  leave 
a  too  close  and  lingering  adherence  to  facts,  and 
study  the  sentiment  as  it  appeared  in  hope  and  not 
in  history.  For  each  man  sees  his  own  life  defaced 
and  disfigured,  as  the  life  of  man  is  not,  to  his  im 
agination.  Each  man  sees  over  his  own  experience 
a  certain  stain  of  error,  whilst  that  of  other  men 
looks  fair  and  ideal.  Let  any  man  go  back  to  those 
delicious  relations  which  make  the  beauty  of  his  life, 
which  have  given  him  sincerest  instruction  and  nour 
ishment,  he  will  shrink  and  moan.  Alas  !  I  know 
not  why,  but  infinite  compunctions  embitter  in  ma 
ture  life  the  remembrances  of  budding  joy,  and  cover 
every  beloved  name.  Every  thing  is  beautiful  seen 
from  the  point  of  the  intellect,  or  as  truth.  But  all 
is  sour,  if  seen  as  experience.  Details  are  melan 
choly  ;  the  plan  is  seemly  and  noble.  In  the  actual 
world  —  the  painful  kingdom  of  time  and  place  — 
dwell  care,  and  canker,  and  fear.  With  thought, 
with  the  ideal,  is  immortal  hilarity,  the  rose  of  joy. 
Round  it  all  the  Muses  sing.  But  grief  cleaves  to 
names,  and  persons,  and  the  partial  interests  of  to 
day  and  yesterday. 

The  strong  bent  of  nature  is  seen  in  the  propor- 


156  ESSAY   V. 

tion  which  this  topic  of  personal  relations  usurps 
in  the  conversation  of  society.  What  do  we  wish 
to  know  of  any  worthy  person  so  much,  as  how 
he  has  sped  in  the  history  of  this  sentiment  ?  What 
books  in  the  circulating  libraries  circulate  ?  How 
we  glow  over  these  novels  of  passion,  when  the 
story  is  told  with  any  spark  of  truth  and  nature  ! 
And  what  fastens  attention,  in  the  intercourse  of 
life,  like  any  passage  betraying  affection  between 
two  parties  ?  Perhaps  we  never  saw  them  before, 
and  never  shall  meet  them  again.  But  we  see  them 
exchange  a  glance,  or  betray  a  deep  emotion,  and 
we  are  no  longer  strangers.  We  understand  them, 
and  take  the  warmest  interest  in  the  development 
of  the  romance.  All  mankind  love  a  lover.  The 
earliest  demonstrations  of  complacency  and  kindness 
are  nature's  most  winning  pictures.  It  is  the  dawn 
of  civility  and  grace  in  the  coarse  and  rustic.  The 
rude  village  boy  teases  the  girls  about  the  school- 
house  door  ;  —  but  to-day  he  comes  running  into  the 
entry,  and  meets  one  fair  child  disposing  her  satchel ; 
he  holds  her  books  to  help  her,  and  instantly  it 
seems  to  him  as  if  she  removed  herself  from  him 
infinitely,  and  was  a  sacred  precinct.  Among  the 
throng  of  girls  he  runs  rudely  enough,  but  one  alone 
distances  him  ;  and  these  two  little  neighbours,  that 
were  so  close  just  now,  have  learned  to  respect 
each  other's  personality.  Or  who  can  avert  his 


LOVE.  157 

eyes  from  the  engaging,  half-artful,  half-artless  ways 
of  school-girls  who  go  into  the  country  shops  to 
buy  a  skein  of  silk  or  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  talk 
half  an  hour  about  nothing  with  the  broad- faced, 
good-natured  shop-boy.  In  the  village  they  are  on 
a  perfect  equality,  which  love  delights  in,  and  with 
out  any  coquetry  the  happy,  affectionate  nature  of 
woman  flow's  out  in  this  pretty  gossip.  The  girls 
may  have  little  beauty,  yet  plainly  do  they  estab 
lish  between  them  and  the  good  boy  the  most  agree 
able,  confiding  relations,  what  with  their  fun  and 
their  earnest,  about  Edgar,  and  Jonas,  and  Almira, 
and  who  was  invited  to  the  party,  and  who  danced 
at  the  dancing-school,  and  when  the  singing-school 
would  begin,  and  other  nothings  concerning  which 
the  parties  cooed.  By  and  by  that  boy  wants  a 
wife,  and  very  truly  and  heartily  will  he  know  where 
to  find  a  sincere  and  sweet  mate,  without  any  risk 
such  as  Milton  deplores  as  incident  to  scholars  and 
great  men. 

I  have  been  told,  that  in  some  public  discourses 
of  mine  my  reverence  for  the  intellect  has  made 
me  unjustly  cold  to  the  personal  relations.  But  now 
I  almost  shrink  at  the  remembrance  of  such  dispar 
aging  words.  For  persons  are  love's  world,  and  the 
coldest  philosopher  cannot  recount  the  debt  of  the 
young  soul  wandering  here  in  nature  to  the  power 
of  love,  without  being  tempted  to  unsay,  as  treason- 


158  ESSAY    V. 

able  to  nature,  aught  derogatory  to  the  social  in 
stincts.  For,  though  the  celestial  rapture  falling  out 
of  heaven  seizes  only  upon  those  of  tender  age, 
and  although  a  beauty  overpowering  all  analysis  or 
comparison,  and  putting  us  quite  beside  ourselves, 
we  can  seldom  see  after  thirty  years,  yet  the  remem 
brance  of  these  visions  outlasts  all  other  remembran 
ces,  and  is  a  wreath  of  flowers  on  the  oldest  brows. 
But  here  is  a  strange  fact  ;  it  may  seem  to  many 
men,  in  revising  their  experience,  that  they  have  no 
fairer  page  in  their  life's  book  than  the  delicious 
memory  of  some  passages  wherein  affection  con 
trived  to  give  a  witchcraft  surpassing  the  deep  at 
traction  of  its  own  truth  to  a  parcel  of  accidental 
and  trivial  circumstances.  In  looking  backward, 
they  may  find  that  several  things  which  were  not  the 
charm  have  more  reality  to  this  groping  memory 
than  the  charm  itself  which  embalmed  them.  But 
be  our  experience  in  particulars  what  it  may,  no  man 
ever  forgot  the  visitations  of  that  power  to  his  heart 
and  brain,  which  created  all  things  new  ;  which  was 
the  dawn  in  him  of  music,  poetry,  and  art  ;  which 
made  the  face  of  nature  radiant  with  purple  light, 
the  morning  and  the  night  varied  enchantments  ; 
when  a  single  tone  of  one  voice  could  make  the 
heart  bound,  and  the  most  trivial  circumstance  asso 
ciated  with  one  form  is  put  in  the  amber  of  mem 
ory  ;  when  he  became  all  eye  when  one  was  present, 


LOVE.  159 

and  all  memory  when  one  was  gone  ;  when  the 
youth  becomes  a  watcher  of  windows,  and  studious 
of  a  glove,  a  veil,  a  ribbon,  or  the  wheels  of  a 
carriage  ;  when  no  place  is  too  solitary,  and  none 
too  silent,  for  him  who  has  richer  company  and 
sweeter  conversation  in  his  new  thoughts,  than  any 
old  friends,  though  best  and  purest,  can  give  him  ; 
for  the  figures,  the  motions,  the  words  of  the  be 
loved  object  are  not  like  other  images  written  in 
water,  but,  as  Plutarch  said,  "  enamelled  in  fire," 
and  make  the  study  of  midnight. 

"  Thou  art  not  gone  being  gone,  where'er  thou  art, 
Thou  leav'st  in  him  thy  watchful  eyes,  in  him  thy  loving 
heart." 

In  the  noon  and  the  afternoon  of  life  we  still  throb  at 
the  recollection  of  days  when  happiness  was  not  happy 
enough,  but  must  be  drugged  with  the  relish  of  pain 
and  fear  ;  for  he  touched  the  secret  of  the  matter, 
who  said  of  love,  — 

"  All  other  pleasures  are  not  worth  its  pains  "  ; 
and  when  the  day  was  not  long  enough,  but  the  night, 
too,  must  be  consumed  ir  keen  recollections  ;  when 
the  head  boiled  all  night  on  the  pillow  with  the  gen 
erous  deed  it  resolved  on  ;  when  the  moonlight  was 
a  pleasing  fever,  and  the  stars  were  letters,  and  the 
flowers  ciphers,  and  the  air  was  coined  into  song  ; 
when  all  business  seemed  an  impertinence,  and  all 
the  men  and  women  running  to  and  fro  in  the  streets, 
mere  pictures. 


160  ESSAY   V. 

The  passion  rebuilds  the  world  for  the  youth.  It 
makes  all  things  alive  and  significant.  Nature  grows 
conscious.  Every  bird  on  the  boughs  of  the  tree 
sings  now  to  his  heart  and  soul.  The  notes  are 
almost  articulate.  The  clouds  have  faces  as  he  looks 
on  them.  The  trees  of  the  forest,  the  waving  grass, 
and  the  peeping  flowers  have  grown  intelligent ;  and 
he  almost  fears  to  trust  them  with  the  secret  which 
they  seem  to  invite.  Yet  nature  soothes  and  sympa 
thizes.  In  the  green  solitude  he  finds  a  dearer  home 
than  with  men. 

"  Fountain-heads  and  pathless  groves, 
Places  which  pale  passion  loves, 
Moonlight  walks,  when  all  the  fowls 
Are  safely  housed,  save  bats  and  owls, 
A  midnight  bell,  a  passing  groan, — 
These  are  the  sounds  we  feed  upon." 

Behold  there  in  the  wood  the  fine  madman  !  He 
is  a  palace  of  sweet  sounds  and  sights  ;  he  dilates  ; 
he  is  twice  a  man  ;  he  walks  with  arms  akimbo  ;  he 
soliloquizes  ;  he  accosts  the  grass  and  the  trees  ;  he 
feels  the  blood  of  the  violet,  the  clover,  and  the  lily 
in  his  veins  ;  and  he  talks  with  the  brook  that  wets 
his  foot. 

The  heats  that  have  opened  his  perceptions  of 
natural  beauty  have  made  him  love  music  and  verse. 
It  is  a  fact  often  observed,  that  men  have  written 
good  verses  under  the  inspiration  of  passion,  who 
cannot  write  well  under  any  other  circumstances. 


LOVE.  161 

The  like  force  has  the  passion  over  all  his  nature. 
It  expands  the  sentiment;  it  makes  the  clown  gentle, 
and  gives  the  coward  heart.  Into  the  most  pitiful 
and  abject  it  will  infuse  a  heart  and  courage  to  defy 
the  world,  so  only  it  have  the  countenance  of  the  be-  • 
loved  object.  In  giving  him  to  another,  it  still  more  j 
gives  him  to  himself.  He  is  a  new  man,  with  new 
perceptions,  new  and  keener  purposes,  and  a  relig 
ious  solemnity  of  character  and  aims.  He  does 
not  longer  appertain  to  his  family  and  society  ;  he 
is  somewhat ;  he  is  a  person  ;  he  is  a  soul. 

And  here  let  us  examine  a  little  nearer  the  nature 
of  that  influence  which  is  thus  potent  over  the  human 
youth.  Beauty,  whose  revelation  to  man  we  now 
celebrate,  welcome  as  the  sun  wherever  it  pleases  to 
shine,  which  pleases  everybody  with  it  and  with 
themselves,  seems  sufficient  to  itself.  The  lover 
cannot  paint  his  maiden  to  his  fancy  poor  and  sol 
itary.  Like  a  tree  in  flower,  so  much  soft,  budding, 
informing  loveliness  is  society  for  itself,  and  she 
teaches  his  eye  why  Beauty  was  pictured  with 
Loves  and  Graces  attending  her  steps.  Her  ex 
istence  makes  the  world  rich.  Though  she  ex 
trudes  all  other  persons  from  his  attention  as  cheap 
and  unworthy,  she  indemnifies  him  by  carrying  out 
her  own  being  into  somewhat  impersonal,  large, 
.  mundane,  so  that  the  maiden  stands  to  him  for  a 
representative  of  all  select  things  and  virtues.  For 
11 


162  ESSAY    V. 

that  reason,  the  lover  never  sees  personal  resemblan 
ces  in  his  mistress  to  her  kindred  or  to  others.  His 
friends  find  in  her  a  likeness  to  her  mother,  or  her 
sisters,  or  to  persons  not  of  her  blood.  The  lover 
sees  no  resemblance  except  to  summer  evenings 
and  diamond  mornings,  to  rainbows  and  the  song  of 

bin 

*f 

The  ancients  called  beauty  the  flowering  of  virtue. 

"ho  can  analyze  the  nameless  charm  which  glances 
from  one  and  another  face  and  form  ?  We  are 
touched  with  emotions  of  tenderness  and  compla 
cency,  but  we  cannot  find  whereat  this  dainty  emo 
tion,  this  wandering  gleam,  points.  It  is  destroyed 
for  the  imagination  by  any  attempt  to  refer  it  to  or 
ganization.  Nor  does  it  point  to  any  relations  of 
friendship  or  love  known  and  described  in  society, 
but,  as  it  seems  to  me,  to  a  quite  other  and  unattain 
able  sphere,  to  relations  of  transcendent  delicacy  and 
sweetness,  to  what  roses  and  violets  hint  and  fore 
show.  We  cannot  approach  beauty.  Its  nature  is 
like  opaline  doves'-neck  lustres,  hovering  and  eva 
nescent.  Herein  it  resembles  the  most  excellent 
things,  which  all  have  this  rainbow  character,  defy 
ing  all  attempts  at  appropriation  and  use*]  What 
else  did  Jean  Paul  Richter  signify,  when  he  said 
to  music,  "  Away  !  away  !  thou  speakest  to  me  of 
things  which  in  all  my  endless  life  I  have  not  found, 
and  shall  not  find."  The  same  fluency  may  be  ob- 


LOVE.  163 

served  in  every  work  of  the  plastic  arts.  The  stat 
ue  is  then  beautiful  when  it  begins  to  be  incompre 
hensible,  when  it  is  passing  out  of  criticism,  and  can 
no  longer  be  defined  by  compass  and  measuring- 
wand,  but  demands  an  active  imagination  to  go  with 
it,  and  to  say  what  it  is  in  the  act  of  doing.  The 
god  or  hero  of  the  sculptor  is  always  represented  in 
a  transition  from  that  which  is  representable  to  the 
senses,  to  that  which  is  not.  Then  first  it  ceases  to 
be  a  stone.  The  same  remark  holds  of  painting. 
And  of  poetry,  the  success  is  not  attained  when  it 
lulls  and  satisfies,  but  when  it  astonishes  and  fires 
us  with  new  endeavours  after  the  unattainable.  Con 
cerning  it,  Landor  inquires  "  whether  it  is  not  to  be 
referred  to  some  purer  state  of  sensation  and  ex 
istence." 

In  like  manner,  personal  beauty  is  then  first 
charming  and  itself,  when  it  dissatisfies  us  with 
any  end  ;  when  it  becomes  a  story  without  an 
end ;  when  it  suggests  gleams  and  visions,  and 
not  earthly  satisfactions ;  when  it  makes  the  be 
holder  feel  his  unworthiness  ;  when  he  cannot  feel 
his  right  to  it,  though  he  were  Caesar  ;  he  cannot 
feel  more  right  to  it  than  to  the  firmament  and  the 
splendors  of  a  sunset. 

Hence  arose  the  saying,  u  If  I  love  you,  what  is 
that  to  you  ?  "  We  say  so,  because  we  feel  that 
what  we  love  is  not  in  your  will,  but  above  it.  It 


164  ESSAY    V. 

is  not  you,  but  your  radiance.     It  is  that  which  you 
know  not  in  yourself,  and  can  never  know. 

This  agrees  well  with  that  high  philosophy  of 
Beauty  which  the  ancient  writers  delighted  in  ;  for 
they  said  that  the  soul  of  man,  embodied  here  on 
earth,  went  roaming  up  and  down  in  quest  of  that 
other  world  of  its  own,  out  of  which  it  came  into 
this,  but  was  soon  stupefied  by  the  light  of  the  nat 
ural  sun,  and  unable  to  see  any  other  objects  than 
those  of  this  world,  which  are  but  shadows  of 
real  things.  Therefore,  the  Deity  sends  the  glory 
of  youth  before  the  soul,  that  it  may  avail  itself  of 
beautiful  bodies  as  aids  to  its  recollection  of  the 
celestial  good  and  fair  ;  and  the  man  beholding  such 
a  person  in  the  female  sex  runs  to  her,  and  finds 
the  highest  joy  in  contemplating  the  form,  move 
ment,  and  intelligence  of  this  person,  because  it 
suggests  to  him  the  presence  of  that  which  in 
deed  is  within  the  beauty,  and  the  cause  of  the 
beauty. 

If,  however,  from  too  much  conversing  with  ma 
terial  objects,  the  soul  was  gross,  and  misplaced  its 
satisfaction  in  the  body,  it  reaped  nothing  but  sor 
row  ;  body  being  unable  to  fulfil  the  promise  which 
beauty  holds  out ;  but  if,  accepting  the  hint  of  these 
visions  and  suggestions  which  beauty  makes  to  his 
mind,  the  soul  passes  through  the  body,  and  falls  to 
admire  strokes  of  character,  and  the  lovers  contem- 


165 

plate  one  another  in  their  discourses  and  their  ac 
tions,  then  they  pass  to  the  true  palace  of  beauty, 
more  and  more  inflame  their  love  of  it,  and  by  this 
love  extinguishing  the  base  affection,  as  the  sun  puts 
out  the  fire  by  shining  on  the  hearth,  they  become 
pure  and  hallowed.  By  conversation  with  that 
which  is  in  itself  excellent,  magnanimous,  lowly, 
and  just,  the  lover  comes  to  a  warmer  love  of 
these  nobilities,  and  a  quicker  apprehension  of  them. 
Then  he  passes  from  loving  them  in  one  to  loving 
them  in  all,  and  so  is  the  one  beautiful  soul  only  the 
door  through  which  he  enters  to  the  society  of  all 
true  and  pure  souls.  In  the  particular  society  of  his 
mate,  he  attains  a  clearer  sight  of  any  spot,  any 
taint,  which  her  beauty  has  contracted  from  this 
world,  and  is  able  to  point  it  out,  and  this  with 
mutual  joy  that  they  are  now  able,  without  offence, 
to  indicate  blemishes  and  hindrances  in  each  other, 
and  give  to  each  all  help  and  comfort  in  curing  the 
same.  And,  beholding  in  many  souls  the  traits  of 
the  divine  beauty,  and  separating  in  each  soul  that 
which  is  divine  from  the  taint  which  it  has  con 
tracted  in  the  world,  the  lover  ascends  to  the  highest 
beauty,  to  the  love  and  knowledge  of  the  Divinity, 
by  steps  on  this  ladder  of  created  souls. 

Somewhat  like  this  have  the  truly  wise  told  us 
of  love  in  all  ages.  The  doctrine  is  not  old,  nor  is 
it  new.  If  Plato,  Plutarch,  and  Apuleius  taught  it, 


166 

so  have  Petrarch,  Angelo,  and  Milton.  It  awaits  a 
truer  unfolding  in  opposition  and  rebuke  to  that  sub 
terranean  prudence  which  presides  at  marriages  with 
words  that  take  hold  of  the  upper  world,  whilst  one 
eye  is  prowling  in  the  cellar,  so  that  its  gravest  dis 
course  has  a  savor  of  hams  and  powdering- tubs. 
Worst,  when  this  sensualism  intrudes  into  the  ed 
ucation  of  young  women,  and  withers  the  hope 
and  affection  of  human  nature,  by  teaching  that 
marriage  signifies  nothing  but  a  housewife's  thrift, 
and  that  woman's  life  has  no  other  aim. 

But  this  dream  of  love,  though  beautiful,  is  only 
one  scene  in  our  play.  In  the  procession  of  the 
soul  from  within  outward,  it  enlarges  its  circles 
ever,  like  the  pebble  thrown  into  the  pond,  or  the 
light  proceeding  from  an  orb.  The  rays  of  the 
soul  alight  first  on  things  nearest,  on  every  utensil 
and  toy,  on  nurses  and  domestics,  on  the  house,  and 
yard,  and  passengers,  on  the  circle  of  household 
acquaintance,  on  politics,  and  geography,  and  his 
tory.  But  things  are  ever  grouping  themselves 
according  to  higher  or  more  interior  laws.  Neigh 
bourhood,  size,  numbers,  habits,  persons,  lose  by 
degrees  their  power  over  us.  1  Cause  and  effect, 
real  affinities,  the  longing  for  harmony  between  the 
soul  and  the  circumstance,  the  progressive,  idealizing 
instinct,  predominate  later,  and  the  step  backward 
from  the  higher  to  the  lower  relations  is  impossible. 


LOVE.  167 

JJ?hus  even  love,  which  is  the  deification  of  persons, 
must  become  more  impersonal  every  day.  Of  this 
at  first  it  gives  no  hint.  Little  think  the  youth  and 
maiden  who  are  glancing  at  each  other  across  crowd 
ed  rooms,  with  eyes  so  full  of  mutual  intelligence, 
of  the  precious  fruit  long  hereafter  to  proceed  from 
this  new,  quite  external  stimulus.  The  work  of 
vegetation  begins  first  in  the  irritability  of  the  bark 
and  leaf-buds.  From  exchanging  glances,  they  ad 
vance  to  acts  of  courtesy,  of  gallantry,  then  to  fiery 
passion,  to  plighting  troth,  and  marriage.  Passion 
beholds  its  object  as  a  perfect  unit.  The  soul  is 
wholly  embodied,  and  the  body  is  wholly  ensouled. 

"  Her  pure  and  eloquent  blood 
Spoke  in  her  cheeks,  and  so  distinctly  wrought, 
That  one  might  almost  say  her  body  thought." 

Romeo,  if  dead,  should  be  cut  up  into  little  stars  to 
make  the  heavens  fine.  Life,  with  this  pair,  has  no 
other  aim,  asks  no  more,  than  Juliet,  —  than  Romeo. 
Night,  day,  studies,  talents,  kingdoms,  religion,  are 
all  contained  in  this  form  full  of  soul,  in  this  soul 
which  is  all  form.  The  lovers  delight  in  endear 
ments,  in  avowals  of  love,  in  comparisons  of  their 
regards.  When  alone,  they  solace  themselves  with 
the  remembered  image  of  the  other.  Does  that 
other  see  the  same  star,  the  same  melting  cloud, 
read  the  same  book,  feel  the  same  emotion,  that 
now  delight  me  ?  They  try  and  weigh  their  affec- 


168  ESSAY    V. 

tion,  and,  adding  up  costly  advantages,  friends^ 
opportunities,  properties,  exult  in  discovering  that 
willingly,  joyfully,  they  would  give  all  as  a  ransom  for 
the  beautiful,  the  beloved  head,  not  one  hair  of  which 
shall  be  harmed.  But  the  lot  of  humanity  is  on 
these  children.  Danger,  sorrow,  and  pain  arrive 
to  them,  as  to  all.  Love  prays.  It  makes  cove 
nants  with  Eternal  Power  in  behalf  of  this  dear 
mate.  The  union  which  is  thus  effected,  and  which 
adds  a  new  value  to  every  atom  in  nature,  for  it 
transmutes  every  thread  throughout  the  whole  web 
of  relation  into  a  golden  ray,  and  bathes  the  soul  in 
a  new  and  sweeter  element,  is  yet  a  temporary  state. 
Not  always  can  flowers,  pearls,  poetry,  protestations, 
nor  even  home  in  another  heart,  content  the  awful 
soul  that  dwells  in  clay.  It  arouses  itself  at  last 
from  these  endearments,  as  toys,  and  puts  on  the 
harness,  and  aspires  to  vast  and  universal  aims. 
The  soul  which  is  in  the  soul  of  each,  craving 
a  perfect  beatitude,  detects  incongruities,  defects, 
and  disproportion  in  the  behaviour  of  the  other. 
Hence  arise  surprise,  expostulation,  and  pain.-  Yet 
that  which  drew  them  to  each  other  was  si^ns  of 
loveliness,  signs  of  virtue  ;  and  these  virtues  are 
there,  however  eclipsed.  They  appear  and  re 
appear,  and  continue  to  attract ;  but  the  regard 
changes,  quits  the  sign,  and  attaches  to  the  substance. 
This  repairs  the  wounded  affection.  Meantime,  as 


LOVE.  169 

life  wears  on,  it  proves  a  game  of  permutation  and 
combination  of  all  possible  positions  of  the  parties, 
to  employ  all  the  resources  of  each,  and  acquaint 
each  with  the  strength  and  weakness  of  the  oth 
er.  For  it  is  the  nature  and  end  of  this  relation, 
that  they  should  represent  the  human  race  to  each 
other.  All  that  is  in  the  world,  which  is  or  ought  to 
be  known,  is  cunningly  wrought  into  the  texture  of 
man,  of  woman. 

"  The  person  love  does  to  us  fit, 
Like  manna,  has  the  taste  of  all  in  it." 

The  world  rolls  ;  the  circumstances  vary  every 
hour.  The  angels  that  inhabit  this  temple  of  the 
body  appear  at  the  windows,  and  the  gnomes  and 
vices  also.  By  all  the  virtues  they  are  united.  If 
there  be  virtue,  all  the  vices  are  known  as  such  ; 
they  confess  and  flee.  Their  once  flaming  regard 
is  sobered  by  time  in  either  breast,  and,  losing  in 
violence  what  it  gains  in  extent,  it  becomes  a  thor 
ough  good  understanding.  They  resign  each  other, 
without  complaint,  to  the  good  offices  which  man 
and  woman  are  severally  appointed  to  discharge  in 
time,  and  exchange  the  passion  which  once  could 
not  lose  sight  of  its  object,  for  a  cheerful,  disen 
gaged  furtherance,  whether  present  or  absent,  of 
each  other's  designs.  At  last  they  discover  that 
all  which  at  first  drew  them  together,  —  those  once 
sacred  features,  that  magical  play  of  charms,  —  was 


170  ESSAY   V. 

deciduous,  had  a  prospective  end,  like  the  scaffold 
ing  by  which  the  house  was  built  ;  and  the  purifica 
tion  of  the  intellect  and  the  heart,  from  year  to  year, 
is  the  real  marriage,  foreseen  and  prepared  from  the 
first,  and  wholly  above  their  consciousness.  Look 
ing  at  these  aims  with  which  two  persons,  a  man  and 
a  woman,  so  variously  and  correlatively  gifted,  are 
shut  up  in  one  house  to  spend  in  the  nuptial  society 
forty  or  fifty  years,  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  emphasis 
with  which  the  heart  prophesies  this  crisis  from  early 
infancy,  at  the  profuse  beauty  with  which  the  instincts 
deck  the  nuptial  bower,  and  nature,  and  intellect,  and 
art  emulate  each  other  in  the  gifts  and  the  melody 
they  bring  to  the  epithalamium. 

Thus  are  we  put  in  training  for  a  love  which 
knows  not  sex,  nor  person,  nor  partiality,  but  which 
seeks  virtue  and  wisdom  everywhere,  to  the  end  of 
increasing  virtue  and  wisdom.  We  are  by  nature 
observers,  and  thereby  learners.  That  is  our  per 
manent  state.  But  we  are  often  made  to  feel  that 
our  affections  are  but  tents  of  a  night.  Though 
slowly  and  with  pain,  the  objects  of  the  affections 
change,  as  the  objects  of  thought  do.  There  are 
moments  when  the  affections  rule  and  absorb  the 
man,  and  make  his  happiness  dependent  on  a  person 
or  persons.  But  in  health  the  mind  is  presently 
seen  again,  —  its  overarching  vault,  bright  wdth  gal 
axies  of  immutable  lights,  and  the  warm  loves  and 


LOVE. 


171 


fears  that  swept  over  us  as  clouds,  must  lose  their 
finite  character  and  blend  with  God,  to  attain  their 
own  perfection.  But  we  need  not  fear  that  we  can 
lose  any  thing  by  the  progress  of  the  soul.  The 
soul  may  be  trusted  to  the  end.  That  which  is  so 
beautiful  and  attractive  as  these  relations,  must  be 
succeeded  and  supplanted  only  by  what  is  more 
beautiful,  and  so  on  for  ever. 


FRIENDSHIP. 


A  ruddy  drop  of  manly  blood 

The  surging  sea  outweighs, 

The  world  uncertain  comes  and  goes, 

The  lover  rooted  stays. 

I  fancied  he  was  fled, 

And,  after  many  a  year, 

Glowed  unexhausted  kindliness 

Like  daily  sunrise  there. 

My  careful  heart  was  free  again,  — 

O  friend,  my  bosom  said, 

Through  thee  alone  the  sky  is  arched, 

Through  thee  the  rose  is  red, 

All  things  through  thee  take  nobler  form, 

And  look  beyond  the  earth, 

And  is  the  mill-round  of  our  fate 

A  sun-path  in  thy  worth. 

Me  too  thy  nobleness  has  taught 

To  master  my  despair  ; 

The  fountains  of  my  hidden  life 

Are  through  thy  friendship  fa 


fair. 


ESSAY   VI. 
FRIENDSHIP 


WE  have  a  gr^t^deal  more  kindness  than  is  ever 
spoken.  SJfaijfere  alP  the  selfishness  that  chills  like 
east  winds  the  world,  the  whole  human  family  is  ~ 
bathed  with  an  element  of  love  like  a  fine  ether. 
How  many  persons  we  meet  in  houses,  whom  we 
scarcely  speak  to,  whom- yet  we  honor,  and  who 
honor  us  !  How  many  we  see  in  the  street,  or  sit 
with  in  church,  whom,  though  silently,  we  warmly 
rejoice  to  be  with!  Read  the  language  of  th£se 
wandering  eye-beams.  ..The  %rt  knoweth. 

The  effect  of  the  incfi^enceSfef  this  human  afTe^-' 
tion  is  a  certain  cordial  exhjlaration.     In  poetry,  and 
in  common  speech,  the  emolfens  of  benevolence.and  X 
complacency  which  are  felt  towards  others  are  lik-    V 
ened   to  the  material  effects   of  fire  ;   so   swift,  or 
much  more  swift,  more  active,  more  cheering,  are 
these   fine   inward   irradiations.     From   the   highest 
degree  of  passionate  love,  to  the  lowest  degree  off/ 
good-will,  they  make  the  sweetness  of  life. 


176  ESSAY    VI. 

\Our  intellectual  and  active  powers  increase .  vyith 
our  affection.  The  scholar  sits  down  to  write,  and 
all  his  years  of  meditation  do  not  furnish  him  with 
one  good  thought  or  happy  expression ;  but  it  is  ne 
cessary  to  write  a  letter  to  a  friend,  —  and,  forthwith, 
troops  of  gentle  thoughts  invest  themselves,  on  every 
hand,  with  chosen  words.  See,  in  any  house  where 
virtue  and  self-respect  abide,  the  palpitation  which 
the  approach  of  a  stranger  causes.  A  commended 
stranger  is  expected  and  announced,  and  an  uneasi 
ness  betwixt  pleasure  and  pain  invades  all  the  hearts 
of  a  household.  His  arrival  almost  brings  fear  to 
the  good  hearts  that  would  welcome  him.  The 
house  is  dusted,  all  things  fly  into  their  places,  the 
old  coat  is  exchanged  for  the  new,  and  they  must 
get  up  a  dinner  if  they  can.  Of  a  commended 
stranger,  only  the  good  report  is  told  by  others, 
only  the  good  and  new  is  heard  by  us.  He  stands 
to  us  for  humanity.  ;  He  is  what  we  wish.  Having 
imagined  and  invested  him,  we  ask  how  we  should 
stand  related  in  conversation  and  action  with  such  a 
man,  and  are  uneasy  with  fear.  The  same  idea  ex 
alts  conversation  with  him.  We  talk  better  than  we 
are  wont.  We  have  the  nimblest  fancy,  a  richer 
memory,  and  our  dumb  devil  has  taken  leave  for 
the  time.  For  long  hours  we  can  continue  a  series 
ol  sincere,  graceful,  rich  communications,  drawn 
from  the  oldest,  secretest  experience,  so  that  they 


FRIENDSHIP.  177 

who  sit  by,  of  our  own  kinsfolk  and  acquaintance, 
shall  feel  a  lively  surprise  at  our  unusual  powers. 
But  as  soon  as  the  stranger  begins  to  intrude  his  s 
partialities,  his  definitions,  his  defects,  into  the  con 
versation,  it  is  all  over.  He  has  heard  the  first,  the 
last  and  best  he  will  ever  hear  from  us.  He  is 
no  stranger  now.  Vulgarity,  ignorance,  misappre 
hension  are  old  acquaintances.  Now,  when  he 
comes,  he  may  get  the  order,  the  dress,  and  the 
dinner,  —  but  the  throbbing  of  the  heart,  and  the 
communications  of  the  soul,  no  more.  v 

What  is  so  pleasant  as  these  jets  of  affection^ 
which  make  a  young  world  for  me  again  ?  What 
so  delicious  as  a  just  and  firm  encounter  of  two,  in 
a  thought,  in  a  feeling  ?  How  beautiful,  on  their 
approach  to  this  beating  heart,  the  steps  and  forms 
of  the  gifted  and  the  true !  The  moment  we  indulge 
our  affections,  the  earth  is  metamorphosed  ;  there  is 
no  winter,  and  no  night ;  all  tragedies,  all  ennuis,  van 
ish,  —  all  duties  even  ;  nothing  fills  the  proceeding 
eternity  but  the  forms  all  radiant  of  beloved  persons. 
Let  the  soul  be  assured  that  somewhere  in  the  uni 
verse  it  should  rejoin  its  friend,  and  it  would  be  con 
tent  and  cheerful  alone  for  a  thousand  years.  /£/ 

I  awoke  this  morning  with  devout  thanksgiving  for 

my  friends,  the  old  and  the  new.      Shall  I  not  call 

God  the  Beautiful,  who  daily  showeth  himself  so  to 

me  in  his  gifts  ?    I  chide  society,  I  embrace  solitude, 

12 


178  ESSAY   VI. 

and  yet  I  am  not  so  ungrateful  as  not  to  see  the  wise, 
the  lovely,  and  the  noble-minded,  as  from  time  to 
time  they  pass  my  gate.  Who  hears  me,  who  un 
derstands  me,  becomes  mine,  —  a  possession  for  all 
time.  )Nor  is  nature  so  poor  but  she  gives  me  this 
joy  several  times,  and  thus  we  weave  social  threads 
of  our  owrn,  a  new  web  of  relations  ;  and,  as  many 
thoughts  in  succession  substantiate  themselves,  we 
shall  by  and  by  stand  in  a  new  world  of  our  own 
creation,  and  no  longer  strangers  and  pilgrims  in  a 
traditionary  globe.  My  friends  have  come  to  me 
unsought.  The  great  God  gave  them  to  me.  By 
I  oldest  right,  by  the  divine  affinity  of  virtue  with  it 
self,  I  find  them,  or  rather  not  I,  but  the  Deity  in 
me  and  in  them  derides  and  cancels  the  thick  walls 
of  individual  character,  relation,  age,  sex,  circum 
stance,  at  which  he  usually  connives,  and  now  makes 
many  one.  High  thanks  I  owe  you,  excellent  lov 
ers,  who  carry  out  the  world  for  rne  to  new  and 
noble  depths,  and  enlarge  the  meaning  of  all  my 
thoughts.  These  are  new  poetry  of  the  first  Bard, 
—  poetry  without  stop,  —  hymn,  ode,  and  epic,  poet 
ry  still  flowing,  Apollo  and  the  Muses  chanting  still. 
Will  these,  too,  separate  themselves  from  me  again, 
or  some  of  them  ?  I  know  not,  but  I  fear  it  not ;  for 
my  relation  to  them  is  so  pure,  that  we  hold  by  sim 
ple  affinity,  and  the  Genius  of  my  life  being  thus 
social,  the  same  affinity  will  exert  its  energy  on 


FRIENDSHIP.  179 

whomsoever  is  as  noble  as  these  men  and  women, 
wherever  I  may  be. 

I  confess  to  an  extreme  tenderness  of  nature  on\ 
this  point.  It  is  almost  dangerous  to  me  to  "  crush 
the  sweet  poison  of  misused  wine  "  of  the  affections. 
A  new  person  is  to  me  a  great  event,  and  hin 
ders  me  from  sleep.  I  have  often  had  fine  fan 
cies  about  persons  which  have  given  me  delicious 
hours  ;  but  the  joy  ends  in  the  day  ;  it  yields  no 
fruit.  Thought  is  not  bom  of  it ;  my  action  is  very 
little  modified.  I  must  feel  pride  in  my  friend's  ac 
complishments  as  if  they  were  mine, — and  a  prop 
erty  in  his  virtues.  I  feel  as  warmly  when  he  is 
praised,  as  the  lover  when  he  hears  applause  of  his 
engaged  maiden.  We  over-estimate  the  conscience 
of  our  friend.  His  goodness  seems  better  than  our 
goodness,  his  nature  finer,  his  temptations  less. 
Every  thing  that  is  his,  —  his  name,  his  form,  his 
dress,  books,  and  instruments,  —  fancy  enhances.  Our 
own  thought  sounds  new  and  larger  from  his  mouth. 

Yet  the  systole  and  diastole  of  the  heart  are  not 
without  their  analogy  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  love. 
Friendship,  like  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  is  too  • 
good  to  be  believed.  The  lover,  beholding  his 
maiden,  half  knows  that  she  is  not  verily  that  which 
he  worships  ;  and  in  the  golden  hour  of  friendship, 
we  are  surprised  with  shades  of  suspicion  and  unbe 
lief.  We  doubt  that  we  bestow  on  our  hero  the  vir- 


180 


ESSAY    VI. 


tues  in  which  he  shines,  and  afterwards  worship  the 
form  to  which  we  have  ascribed  this  divine  inhabita 
tion.  In  strictness,  the  soul  does  not  respect  men  as! 
it  respects  itself.  In  strict  science  all  persons  under 
lie  the  same  condition  of  an  infinite  remoteness.  Shall 
we  fear  to  cool  our  love  by  mining  for  the  metaphys 
ical  foundation  of  this  Elysian  temple  ?  Shall  I  not 
be  as  real  as  the  things  I  see  ?  If  I  am,  I  shall  not 
fear  to  know  them  for  what  they  are.  Their  essence 
is  not'  less  beautiful  than  their  appearance,  though  it 
needs  finer  organs  for  its  apprehension.  The  root 
of  the  plant  is  not  unsightly  to  science,  though  for 
chaplets  and  festoons  we  cut  the  stem  short.  And  I 
must  hazard  the  production  of  the  bald  fact  amidst 
these  pleasing  reveries,  though  it  should  prove  an 
Egyptian  skull  at  our  banquet.  A  man  who  stands 
united  with  his  thought  conceives  magnificently  of 
himself.  He  is  conscious  of  a  universal  success, 
even  though  bought  by  uniform  particular  failures. 
No  advantages,  no  powers,  no  gold  or  force,  can  be 
any  match  for  him.  I  cannot  choose  but  rely  on  my 
own  poverty  more  than  on  your  wealth.  I  cannot 
make  your  consciousness  tantamount  to  mine.  Only 
the  star  dazzles  ;  the  planet  has  a  faint,  moon-like 
ray.  I  hear  what  you  say  of  the  admirable  parts 
and  tried  temper  of  the  party  you  praise,  but '  I  see 
well  that  for  all  his  purple  cloaks  I  shall  not  like 
him,  unless  he  is  at  last  a  poor  Greek  like  me.  I 


FRIENDSHIP.  181 

cannot  deny  it,  O  friend,  that  the  vast  shadow  of  the 
Phenomenal  includes  thee  also  in  its  pied  and  paint 
ed  immensity,  — thee,  also,  compared  with  whom  all 
else  is  shadow.  Thou  art  not  Being,  as  Truth  is, 
as  Justice  is,  —  thou  art  not  my  soul,  but  a  picture 
)  and  effigy  of  that.  Thou  hast  come  to  me  lately,  and 
already  thou  art  seizing  thy  hat  and  cloak.  Is  it  not 
,  that  the  soul  puts  forth  friends  as  the  tree  puts  forth 
i  leaves,  and  presently,  by  the  germination  of  new 
<buds,  extrudes  the  old  leaf?  The  law  of  nature  is 
alternation  for  evermore.  Each  electrical  state  su 
perinduces  the  opposite.  The  soul  environs  itself 
with  friends,  that  it  may  enter  into  a  grander  self- 
acquaintance  or  solitude  ;  and  it  goes  alone  for  a 
season,  that  it  may  exalt  its  conversation  or  society. 
This  method  betrays  itself  along  the  whole  history 
of  our  personal  relations.  The  instinct  of  affection 
revives  the  hope  of  union  with  our  mates,  and  the 
returning  sense  of  insulation  recalls  us  from  the 
chase.  Thus  every  man  passes  his  life  in  the 
search  after  friendship,  and  if  he  should  record  his 
true  sentiment,  he  might  write  a  letter  like  this  to 
each  new  candidate  for  his  love. 

DEAR  FRIEND  :  — 

If  I  was  sure  of  thee,  sure  of  thy  capacity,  sure 
to  match  my  mood  with  thine,  I  should  never  think 
again  of  trifles  in  relation  to  thy  comings  and  goings. 


182  ESSAY   VI. 

I  am  not  very  wise  ;  my  moods  are  quite  attainable  ; 
and  I  respect  thy  genius  ;  it  is  to  me  as  yet  unfath- 
omed  ;  yet  dare  I  not  presume  in  thee  a  perfect  in 
telligence  of  me,  and  so  thou  art  to  me  a  delicious 
torment.  Thine  ever,  or  never. 

Yet  these  uneasy  pleasures  and  fine  pains  are  for 
curiosity,  and  not  for  life.  They  are  not  to  be  in 
dulged.  This  is  to  weave  cobweb,  and  not  cloth. 
Our  friendships  hurry  to  short  and  poor  conclusions, 
because  we  have  made  them  a  texture  of  \vine  and 
dreams,  instead  of  the  tough  fibre  of  the  human 
heart.  The  laws  of  friendship  are  austere  and 
eternal,  of  one  web  with  the  laws  of  nature  and  of 
morals.  But  we  have  aimed  at  a  swift  and  petty 
benefit,  to  suck  a  sudden  sweetness.  We  snatch  at 
the  slowest  fruit  in  the  whole  garden  of  God,  which 
many  summers  and  many  winters  must  ripen.  We 
seek  our  friend  not  sacredly,  but  with  an  adulterate 
passion  which  would  appropriate  him  to  ourselves. 
In  vain.  We  are  armed  all  over  with  subtle  antago 
nisms,  which,  as  soon  as  we  meet,  begin  to  play,  and 
translate  all  poetry  into  stale  prose.  Almost  all  peo 
ple  descend  to  meet.  All  association  must  be  a 
compromise,  and,  what  is  worst,  the  very  flower  and 
aroma  of  the  flower  of  each  of  the  beautiful  natures 
disappears  as  they  approach  each  other.  What  a 
perpetual  disappointment  is  actual  society,  even  of 


FRIENDSHIP.  183 

the  virtuous  and  gifted  !  After  interviews  have  been 
compassed  with  long  foresight,  we  must  be  tormented 
presently  by  baffled  blows,  by  sudden,  unseasonable 
apathies,  by  epilepsies  of  wit  and  of  animal  spirits, 
in  the  heyday  of  friendship  and  thought.  Our  fac 
ulties  do  not  play  us  true,  and  both  parties  are  re 
lieved  by  solitude.  .' 

I  ought  to  be  equal  to  every  relation.  It  makes 
no  difference  how  many  friends  I  have,  and  what 
content  I  can  find  in  conversing  with  each,  if  there  be 
one  to  whom  I  am  not  equak  If  I  have  shrunk  un 
equal  from  one  contest,  the  joy  I  find  in  all  the  rest 
becomes  mean  and  cowardly.  I  should  hate  myself, 
if  then  I  made  my  other  friends  my  asylum. 

"  The  valiant  warrior  famoused  for  fight, 
After  a  hundred  victories,  once  foiled, 
Is  from  the  book  of  honor  razed  quite, 
And  all  the  rest  forgot  for  which  he  toiled." 

Our  impatience  is  thus  sharply  rebuked.  Bashful- 
ness  and  apathy  are  a  tough  husk,  in  which  a  delicate 
organization  is  protected  from  premature  ripening. 
It  would  be  lost  if  it  knew  itself  before  any  of  the 
best  souls  were  yet  ripe  enough  to  know  and  own  it. 
Respect  the  naturlangsamkeit  which  hardens  the  ru 
by  in  a  million  years,  and  works  in  duration,  in  which 
Alps  and  Andes  come  and  go  as  rainbows.  The 
good  spirit  of  our  life  has  no  heaven  which  is  the 
price  of  rashness.  Love,  which  is  the  essence  of 


184  ESSAY    VI. 

God,  is  not  for  levity,  but  for  the  total  worth  of  man. 
Let  us  not  have  this  childish  luxury  in  our  regards, 
but  the  austerest  worth  ;  let  us  approach  our  friend 
with  an  audacious  trust  in  the  truth  of  his  heart,  in 
the  breadth,  impossible  to  be  overturned,  of  his  foun 
dations. 

The  attractions  of  this  subject  are  not  tc  be  re 
sisted,  and  I  leave,  for  the  time,  all  account  of  sub 
ordinate  social  benefit,  to  speak  of  that  select  and 
sacred  relation  which  is  a  kind  of  absolute,  and 
which  even  leaves  the  language  of  love  suspicious 
and  common,  so  much  is  this  purer,  and  nothing  is 
so  much  divine. 

I   do   not  wish   to   treat  friendships   daintily,  but 
with  roughest  courage.     When  they  are  real,  they 
are  not  glass  threads  or  frostwork,  but  the  solidest 
I  thing   we  know.     For  now,  after  so  many  ages  of 
/  experience,  what  do  we  know  of  nature,  or  of  our- 
]   selves  ?     Not  one  step  has  man  taken  toward  the  so 
lution  of  the  problem  of  his  destiny.     In  one  con 
demnation  of  folly  stand  the  whole  universe  of  men. 
But  the  sweet  sincerity  of  joy  and  peace,  which  1 
draw  from  this  alliance  with  my  brother's  soul,  is  the 
nut  itself,  whereof  all  nature  and  all  thought  is  but  the 
husk  and  shell.     Happy  is  the  house  that  shelters  a 
friend  !     It  might  well  be  built,  like  a  festal  bower 
or  arch,  to  entertain  him  a  single  day.     Happier,  if 
he  know  the  solemnity  of  that  relation,  and  honor  its 


FRIENDSHIP.  185 

law  !  He  who  offers  himself  a  candidate  for  that 
covenant  comes  up,  like  an  Olympian,  to  the  great 
games,  where  the  first-born  of  the  world  are  the 
competitors.  He  proposes  himself  for  contests 
where  Time,  Want,  Danger,  are  in  the  lists,  and 
he  -alone  is  victor  w-ho  has .  truth  enough  in  his  con 
stitution  to  preserve  the  delicacy  of  his  beauty  fromO 
the  wear  and  tear  of  all  these.  The  gifts  of  fortune' 
may  be  present  or  absent,  but  all  the  speed  in  that 
contest  depends  on  intrinsic  nobleness,  and  the  con 
tempt  of  trifles.  There  are  two  elements  that  go  to 
the  composition  of  friendship,  each  so  sovereign 
that  I  can  detect  no  superiority  in  either,  no  reason 
why  either  should  be  first  named.  One  is  Truth.  / 
A  friend  is  a  person  with  whom  I  may  be  sincere. 
Before  him  I  may  think  aloud.  I  am  arrived  at  last 
in  the  presence  of  a  man  so  real  and  equal,  that  I 
may  drop  even  those  undermost  garments  of  dissim 
ulation,  courtesy,  and  second  thought,  which  men 
never  put  off,  and  may  deal  with  him  with  the  sim 
plicity  and  wholeness  with  which  one  chemical  atom 
meets  another.  Sincerity  is  the  luxury  allowed, 
like  diadems  and  authority,  only  to  the  highest  rank, 
that  being  permitted  to  speak  truth,  as  having  none 
above  it  to  court  or  conform  unto.  Every  man 
alone  is  sincere.  -  At  the  entrance  of  a  second 
person,  hypocrisy  begins.  We  parry  and  fend  the 
approach  of  our  fellow-man  by  compliments,  by  gos- 


186  ESSAY   VI. 

sip,  by  aftiusements,  by  affairs.  We  cover  up  our 
thought  from  him  under  a  hundred  folds.  I  knew  a 
man,  who,  under  a  certairf  religious  frenzy,  cast  off 
this  drapery,  and,  omitting  all  compliment  and^com- 
monplace,  spoke  to  the  conscience  of  every  person 
he  encountered,  and  that  with  great>iraigh^aftdJiiaH»- 
ty.  At  first  he  was  resisted,  and  all  men  agreed  he 
was  mad.  But  persisting,  as  indeed  he  could  not 
help  doing,  for  some  time  in  this  course,  he  attained 
to  the  advantage  of  bringing  every  man  of  his  ac 
quaintance  into  true  relations  with  him.  No  man 
would  think  of  speaking  falsely  with  him,  or  of  put 
ting  him  off  with  any  chat  of  markets  or  reading- 
rooms.  But  every  man  was  constrained  by  so  much 
sincerity  to  the  like  plaindealing,  and  what  love  of 
nature,  what  poetry,  what  symbol  of  truth  he  had, 
he  did  certainly  show  him.  But  to  most  of  us  so 
ciety  shows  not  its  face  and  eye,  but  its  side  and  its 
back.  To  stand  in  true  relations  with  men  in  a  false 
age  is  worth  a  fit  of  insanity,  is  it  not  ?  We  can 
seldom  go  erect.  Almost  every  man  we  meet  re 
quires  some  civility,  —  requires  to  be  humored  ;  he 
has  some  fame,  some  talent,  some  whim  of  religion 
or  philanthropy  in  his  head  that  is  not  to  be  ques 
tioned,  and  which  spoils  all  conversation  with  him. 
But  a  friend  is  a  sane  man  who  exercises  not  my  in 
genuity,  but  me.  My  friend  gives  me  entertainment 
without  requiring  any  stipulation  on  my  part.  A 


187 


friend,  therefore,  is  a  sort  of  paradox  in  nature.  I 
who  alone  am,  I  who  see  nothing  in  nature  whose 
existence  I  can  affirm  with  equal  evidence  to  my 
own,  behold  now  'the  semblance  of  my  being,  in  all 
its  height,  variety,  and  curiosity,  reiterated  in  a  for 
eign  form  ;  so  that  a  friend  may  well  be  reckoned  the 
masterpiece  of  nature. 

The  other  element  of  friendship  is  tenderness. 
We  are  holden  to  men  by  every  sort  of  tie,  by  blood, 
by  pride,  by  fear,  by  hope,  by  lucre,  by  lust,  by  hate, 
by  admiration,  by  every  circumstance  and  badge  and 
trifle,  but  we  can  scarce  believe  that  so  much  charac 
ter  can  subsist  in  another  as  to  draw  us  by  love. 
Can  another  be  so  blessed,  and  we  so  pure,  that  we 
can  offer  him  tenderness  ?  When  a  man  becomes 
dear  to  me,  I  have  touched  the  goal  of  fortune.  I 
find  very  little  written  directly  to  the  heart  of  this  mat 
ter  in  books.  And  yet  I  have  one  text  which  I  cannot 
choose  but  remember.  My  author  says,  —  "I  offer 
myself  faintly  and  bluntly  to  those  whose  I  effectually 
am,  and  tender  myself  least  to  him  to  whom  I  am  the 
most  devoted."  I  wish  that  friendship  should  have 
feet,  as  well  as  eyes  and  eloquence.  It  must  plant 
itself  on  the  ground,  before  it  vaults  over  the  moon.  / 
I  wish  it  to  be  a  little  of  a  citizen,  before  it  is  quite 
a  cherub.  We  chide  the  citizen  because  he  makes 
love  a  commodity.  It  is  an  exchange  of  gifts,  of  useful 
loans  ;  it  is  good  neighbourhood  ;  it  watches  with  the 


188 


ESSAY   VI. 


sick  ;  it  holds  the  pall  at  the  funeral ;  and  quite  loses 
sight  of  the  delicacies  and  nobility  of  the  relation. 
But  though  we  cannot  find  the  god  under  this  dis 
guise  of  a  sutler,  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  we  cannot 
forgive  the  poet  if  he  spins  his  thread  too  fine,  and  does 
not  substantiate  his  romance  by  the  municipal  virtues 

justice,  punctuality,  fidelity,  and  pity.  I  hate  the 
prostitution  of  the  name  of  friendship  to  signify  mod 
ish  and  worldly  alliances.  I  much  prefer  the  compa 
ny  of  ploughboys  and  tin-peddlers,  to  the  silken  and 
perfumed  amity  which  celebrates  its  days  of  encoun 
ter  by  a  frivolous  display,  by  rides  in  a  curricle,  and 
dinners  at  the  best  taverns.  The  end  of  friendship  is 
a  commerce  the  most  strict  and  homely  that  can  be 
joined  ;  more  strict  than  any  of  which  we  have  expe 
rience.  It  is  for  aid  and  comfort  through  all  the  rela 
tions  and  passages  of  life  and  death.  It  is  fit  for 
serene  days,  and  graceful  gifts,  and  country  rambles, 
but  also  for  rough  roads  and  hard  fare,  shipwreck, 
poverty,  and  persecution.  It  keeps  company  with  the 
sallies  of  the  wit  and  the  trances  of  religion.  We 
are  to  dignify  to  each  other  the  daily  needs  and 
offices  of  man's  life,  and  embellish  it  by  courage, 
wisdom,  and  unity.  It  should  never  fall  into  some 
thing  usual  and  settled,  but  should  be  alert  and  in 
ventive,  and  add  rhyme  and  reason  to  what  was 
drudgery. 

Friendship   may  be  said   to    require    natures    so 


FRIENDSHIP.  189 

rare  and  costly,  each  so  well  tempered  and  so  hap 
pily  adapted,  and  withal  so  circumstanced,  (for  even 
in  that  particular,  a  poet  says,  love  demands  that 
the  parties  be  altogether  paired,)  that  its  satisfaction 
can  very  seldom  be  assured.  It  cannot  subsist  in 
its  perfection,  say  some  of  those  who  are  learned 
in  this  warm  lore  of  the  heart,  betwixt  more  than 
two.  I  am  not  quite  so  strict  in  my  terms,  per 
haps  because  I  have  never  known  so  high  a  fellow 
ship  as  others.  I  please  my  imagination  more  with 
a  circle  of  godlike  men  and  women  variously  related 
to  each  other,  and  between  whom  subsists  a  lofty 
intelligence.  But  I  find  this  law  of  one  to  one 
peremptory  for  conversation,  which  is  the  practice^ 
and  consummation  of  friendship.  Do  not  mix  wa-  v 
ters  too  much.  The  best  mix  as  ill  as  good  and 
bad.  You  shall  have  very  useful  and  cheering  dis 
course  at  several  times  with  two  several  men,  but  let 
all  three  of  you  come  together,  and  you  shall  not 
have  one  new  and  hearty  word.  Two  may  talk  and 
one  may  hear,  but  three  cannot  take  part  in  a  con 
versation  of  the  most  sincere  and  searching  sort. 
In  good  company  there  is  never  such  discourse  be 
tween  two,  across  the  table,  as  takes  place  when  you 
leave  them  alone.  In  good  company,  the  individuals 
merge  their  egotism  into  a  social  soul  exactly  co 
extensive  with  the  several  consciousnesses  there  pres 
ent.  No  partialities  of  friend  to  friend,  no  fondness- 


190  ESSAY    VI. 

es  of  brother  to  sister,  of  wife  to  husband,  are  there 
pertinent,  but  quite  otherwise.  Only  he  may  then 
speak  who  can  sail  on  the  common  thought  of  the 
party,  and  not  poorly  limited  to  his  own.  Now  this 
convention,  which  good  sense  demands,  destroys  the 
high  freedom  of  great  conversation,  which  requires 
an  absolute  running  of  two  souls  into  one. 

No  two  men  but,  being  left  alone  with  each  other, 
enter  into  simpler  relations.  Yet  it  is  affinity  that 
determines  which  two  shall  converse.  Unrelated 
men  give  little  joy  to  each  other  ;  will  never  suspect 
the  latent  powers  of  each.  We  talk  sometimes  of  a 
great  talent  for  conversation,  as  if  it  were  a  perma 
nent  property  in  some  individuals.  Conversation  is 
an  evanescent  relation,  —  no  more.  A  man  is  reput 
ed  to  have  thought  and  eloquence  ;  he  cannot,  for  all 
that,  say  a  word  to  his  cousin  or  his  uncle.  They 
accuse  his  silence  with  as  much  reason  as  they  would 
blame  the  insignificance  of  a  dial  in  the  shade.  In 
the  sun  it  will  mark  the  hour.  Among  those  who 
enjoy  his  thought,  he  will  regain  his  tongue. 

Friendship  requires  that  rare  mean  betwixt  like 
ness  and  unlikeness,  that  piques  each  with  the  pres 
ence  of  power  and  of  consent  in  the  other  party. 
Let  me  be  alone  to  the  end  of  the  world,  rather  than 
that  my  friend  should  overstep,  by  a  word  or  a  look, 
his  real  sympathy.  I  am  equally  balked  by  antago 
nism  and  by  compliance.  Let  him  not  cease  an  in- 


FRIENDSHIP.  191 


stant  to  be  himself.  The  only  joy  I  have  in  his 
being  mine,  is  that  the  not  mine  is  mine.  I  hate, 
where  I  looked  for  a  manly  furtherance,  or  at  least 
a  manly  resistance,  to  find  a  mush  of  concession. 
Better  be  a  nettle  in  the  side  of  your  friend  than  his 
echo.  The  condition  which  high  friendship  de-^ 
mands  is  ability  to  do  without  it.  That  high| 
office  requires  great  and  sublime  parts,  There 
must  be  very  two,  before  there  can  be  very  one. 
Let  it  be  an  alliance  of  two  large,  formidable  na 
tures,  mutually  beheld,  mutually  feared,  before  yet 
they  recognize  the  deep  identity  which  beneath  these 
disparities  unites  them. 

He  only  is  fit  for  this  society  who  is  magnanimous; 
who  is  sure  that  greatness  and  goodness  are  always 
economy  ;  who  is  not  swift  to  intermeddle  with  his 
fortunes.  Let  him  not  intermeddle  with  this.  Leave 
to  the  diamond  its  ages  to  grow,  nor  expect  to  accel 
erate  the  births  of  the  eternal.  Friendship  demands 
a  religious  treatment.  We  talk  of  choosing  ourp 
friends,  but  friends  are  self-elected.  Reverence  is 
a  great  part  of  it.  Treat  your  friend  as  a  spectacle. 
Of  course  he  has  merits  that  are  not  yours,  and  that 
you  cannot  honor,  if  you  must  needs  hold  him  close 
to  your  person.  Stand  aside  ;  give  those  merits 
room  ;  let  them  mount  and  expand.  Are_you  the 
friend  of  your  friend's  buttons,  or  of  his  thought  ? 
To  a  great  heart  he  will  still  be  a  stranger  in  a 


192 


ESSAY   VI. 


thousand  particulars,  that  he  may  come  near  in  the 
I  holiest  ground.     Leave  it  to  girls  and  boys  to  regard 
a  friend  as  property,  and  to  suck  a  short  and  all-con 
founding  pleasure,  instead  of  the  noblest  benefit. 

Let  us  buy  our  entrance  to  this  guild  by  a  long 
probation.  Why  should  we  desecrate  noble  .and 
J  beautiful  souls  by  intruding  on  them  ?  Why  insist 
on  rash  personal  relations  with  your  friend  ?  Why 
go  to  his  house,  or  know  his  mother  and  brother 
and  sisters  ?  Why  be  visited  by  him  at  your  own  ? 
Are  these  things  material  to  our  covenant  ?  Leave 
this  touching  and  clawing.  Let  him  be  to  me  a 
spirit.  A  message,  a  thought,  a  sincerity,  a  glance 
from  him,  I  want,  but  not  news,  nor  pottage.  I  can 
get  politics,  and  chat,  and  neighbourly  conveniences 
from  cheaper  companions.  Should  not  the  society 
of  my  friend  be  to  me  poetic,  pure,  universal,  and 
'  great  as  nature  itself  ?  Ought  I  to  feel  that  our  tie 
is  profane  in  comparison  with  yonder  bar  of  cloud 
that  sleeps  on  the  horizon,  or  that  clump  of  waving 
grass  that  divides  the  brook  ?  /Let  us  not  vilify,  but 
raise  it  to  that  standard.  T^iat  great,  defying  eye, 
that  scornful  beauty  of  his  mien  and  action,  do  not 
pique  yourself  on  reducing,  but  rather  fortify  and 
enhance.  Worship  his  superiorities  ;  wish  him  not 
less  by  a  thought,  but  hoard  and  tell  them  all. 
Guard  him  as  thy  counterpart.  Let  him  be  to  thee 
for  ever  a  sort  of  beautiful  enemy,  untamable,  de- 


FRIENDSHIP. 


193 


voutly  revered,  and  not  a  trivial  conveniency  to  be 
soon  outgrown  and  cast  aside.  The  hues  of  the 
opal,  the  light  of  the  diamond,  are  not  to  be  seen, 
if  the  eye  is  too  near.  To  my  friend  I  write  a  let 
ter,  and  from  him  I  receive  a  letter.  That  seems 
to  you  a  little.  It  suffices  me.  It  is  a  spiritual  gift  i 
worthy  of  him  to  give,  and  of  me  to  receive.  It 
profanes  nobody.  In  these  warm  lines  the  heart  will 
trust  itself,  as  it  will  not  to  the  tongue,  and  pour  out 
the  prophecy  of  a  godlier  existence  than  all  the  an 
nals  of  heroism  have  yet  made  good. 

Respect  so  far  the  holy  laws  of  this  fellowship  as 
not  to  prejudice  its  perfect  flower  by  your  impa 
tience  for  its  opening.  We  must  be  our  own  before 
we  can  be  another's.  There  is  at  least  this  satisfac 
tion  in  crime,  according  to  the  Latin  proverb  ;  —  you 
can  speak  to  your  accomplice  on  even  terms.  Cri- 
men  quos  inguinal,  cequat.  To  those  whom  we  ad 
mire  and  love,  at  first  we  cannot.  Yet  the  least  de 
fect  of  self-possession  vitiates,  in  my  judgment,  the 
entire  relatioftr^xThere  can  never  be  deep  peace 
between  two  spirits,  never  mutual  respect,  until,  in 
their  dialogue,  each  stands  for  the  whole  world. *Jf 

What  is  so  great  as  friendship,  let  us  carry  with 
what  grandeur  of  spirit  we  can.  Let  us  be  silent,  — 
so  we  may  hear  the  whisper  of  the  gods.  Let  us 
not  interfere.  Who  set  you  to  cast  about  what  you 
should  say  to  the  select  souls,  or  how  to 'say  any 
13 


194  ESSAY    VI. 

thing  to  such  ?  No  matter  how  ingenious,  no  matter 
how  graceful  and  bland.  There  are  innumerable 
degrees  of  folly  and  wisdom,  and  for  you  to  say 
aught  is  to  be  frivolous.  Wait,  and  thy  heart  shall 
speak.  Wait  until  the  necessary  and  everlasting 
overpowers  you,  until  day  and  night  avail  themselves 
of  your  lips.  The  only  reward  of  virtue  is  virtue  ; 
the  only  way  to  have  a  friend  is  to  be  one^  You 
shall  not  come  nearer  a  man  by  getting  into  his 
house.  If  unlike,  his  soul  only  flees  the  faster 
from  you,  and  you  shall  never  catch  a  true  glance 
of  his  eye.  We  see  the  noble  afar  off,  and  they 
repel  us  ;  why  should  we  intrude  ?  Late,  —  very 
late,  —  we  perceive  that  no  arrangements,  no  intro 
ductions,  no  consuetudes  or  habits  of  society,  would 
be  of  any  avail  to  establish  us  in  such  relations  with 
them  as  we  desire,  —  but  solely  the  uprise  of  nature 
in  us  to  the  same  degree  it  is  in  them  ;  then  shall  we 
meet  as  water  with  water;  and  if  we  should  not 
meet  them  then,  we  shall  not  want  them,  for  we  are 
already  theyj^ln  the  last  analysis,  love  is  only  the 
reflection  of  a  man's  own  worthiness  from  other  men.ij 
Men  have  sometimes  exchanged  names  with  their 
friends,  as  if  they  would  signify  that  in  their  friend 
each  loved  his  own  soul. 

The  higher  the  style  we  demand  of  friendship,  of 
course  the  less  easy  to  establish  it  with  flesh  and  blood. 
We  wait*  alone  in  the  world.  Friends,  such  as  we 


FKIENDSHIP.  195 

desire  ,jire  dreams  and  fables^  But  a  sublime  hope 
cheers  ever  the  faithful  heart,  that  elsewhere,  in  other 
regions  of  the  universal  power,  souls  are  now  acting, 
enduring,  and  daring,  which  can  love  us,  and  which 
we  can  love.  We  may  congratulate  ourselves  that 
the  period  of  nonage,  of  follies,  of  blunders,  and  of 
shame,  is  passed  in  solitude,  and  when  we  are  finish 
ed  men,  we  shall  grasp  heroic  hands  in  heroic  hands. 
Only  be  admonished  by  what  you  already  see,  not  to 
strike  leagues  of  friendship  with  cheap  persons,  where  / 
no  friendship  can  be.  Our  impatience  betrays  us  in-  • 
to  rash  and  foolish  alliances  which  no  God  attends. 
By  persisting  in  your  path,  though  you  forfeit  the  lit 
tle  you  gain  the  great.  You  demonstrate  yourself, 
so  as  to  put  yourself  out  of  the  reach  of  false  relations, 
and  you  draw  to  you  the  first-born  of  the  world,  — 
those  rare  pilgrims  whereof  only  one  or  two  wander 
in  nature  at  once,  and  before  whom  the  vulgar  great 
show  as  spectres  and  shadows  merely. 

It  is  foolish  to  be  afraid  of  making  our  ties  too 
spiritual,  as  if  so  we  could  lose  any  genuine  love. 
Whatever  correction  of  our  popular  views  we  make 
from  insight,  nature  will  be  sure  to  bear  us  out  in, 
and  though  it  seem  to  rob  us  of  some  joy,  will  repay 
us  with  a  greater.  Let  us  feel,  if  we  will,  the  abso 
lute  insulation  of  man.  We  are  sure  that  we  have  all 
in  us.  We  go  to  Europe,  or  we  pursue  persons,  or 
we  read  books,  in  the  instinctive  faith  that  these  will 


196  ESSAY    VI. 

call  it  out  and  reveal  us  to  ourselves.  Beggars  all. 
The  persons  are  such  as  we  ;  the  Europe  an  old 
faded  garment  of  dead  persons  ;  the  books  their 
ghosts.  Let  us  drop  this  idolatry.  Let  us  give  over 
this  mendicancy.  Let  us  even  bid  our  dearest 
friends  farewell,  and  defy  them,  saying,  *  Who  are 
you  ?  Unhand  me  :  I  will  be  dependent  no  more.' 
Ah  !  seest  thou  not,  O  brother,  that  thus  we  part 

E'y  to  meet  again  on  a  higher  platform,  and  only  be 
re  each  other's,  because  we   are  more  our  own  ?  • 
friend  is   Janus-faced  :  he  looks  to  the  past  and 
the  future.    He  is  the  child  of  all  my  foregoing  hours, 
the  prophet  of  those  to  come,  and  the  harbinger  of 
a  greater  friend. 

I  do  then  with  my  friends  as  I  do  with  my  books. 
,1  would  have  them  where  I  can  find  them,  but  I  sel- 
'dom  use  them.  We  must  have  society  on  our  own 
terms,  and  admit  or  exclude  it  on  the  slightest  cause. 
I  cannot  afford  to  speak  much  with  my  friend.  If 
he  is  great,  he  makes  me  so  great  that  I  cannot  de 
scend  to  converse.  In  the  great  days,  presentiments 
hover  before  me  in  the  firmament.  I  ought  then  to 
dedicate  myself  to  them.  I  go  in  that  I  may  seize 
them,  I  go  out  that  I  may  seize  them.  I  fear  only 
that  I  may  lose  them  receding  into  the  sky  in  which 
now  they  are  only  a  patch  of  brighter  light.  Then, 
though  I  prize  my  friends,  I  cannot  afford  to  talk 
and  study  theii^  visions,  lest  I  lose  my 


FRIENDSHIP.  197 

own.  It  would  indeed  give  me  a  certain  household 
joy  to  quit  this  lofty  seeking,  this  spiritual  astrono- 
of  stars,  and  come  down  to  warm 


sympathies  with  you  ;  but  then  I  know  well  I  shall 
iTiounTalways  the  vanishing  of  my  mighty  gods.  It 
is  true,  next  week  I  shall  have  languid  moods,  when 
I  can  well  afford  to  occupy  myself  with  foreign  ob 
jects  ;  then  I  shall  regret  the  lost  literature  of  your 
mind,  and  wish  you  were  by  my  side  again.  But 
if  you  come,  perhaps  you  will  fill  my  mind  only 
with  new  visions,  not  with  yourself  but  with  your 
lustres,  and  I  shall  not  be  able  any  more  than  now 
to  converse  with  you.  So  I  will  owe  to  my  friends 
this  evanescent  intercourse.  I  will  receive  from 
them,  not  what  they  have,  but  what  they  are.  They 
shall  give  me  that  which  properly  they  cannot  give, 
but  which  emanates  from  them.  But  they  shall  not 
hold  me  by  any  relations  less  subtile  and  pure.  We 
will  meet  as  though  we  met  not,  and  part  as  though 
we  parted  not.  \!v 

It  has  seemed  to  me  lately  more  possible  than  1  ^ 
knew,  to  carry  a  friendship  greatly,  on  one  side, 
without  due  correspondence  on  the  other.  Why 
should  I  cumber  myself  with  regrets  that  the  receiver 
is  not  capacious  ?  It  never  troubles  the  sun  that 
some  of  his  rays  fall  wide  and  vain  into  .  ungrateful 
space,  and  only  a  small  part  on  the  reflecting  planet. 
Let  your  greatness  educate  the  crude  and  cold  com- 


198  ESSAY    VI. 

panion.     If  he  is  unequal,  he   will   presently   pass 
away  ;  but  thou  art  enlarged  by  thy  own  shining, WR^ 
no  -  idTTger  a  mate  for  frogs   and   worms,  dost*  soar 
and    burn  with   the   gods   of  the   empyrean.     It   is 

/  thought  a  disgrace  to  love  unrequited.  But  the  great 
will  see  that  true  love  cannot  be  unrequited.  True 
love  transcends  the  unworthy  object,  and  dwells  and 

*  broods  on  the  eternal,  and  when  the  poor  interposed 
mask  crumbles,  it  is  not  sad,  but  feels  rid  of  so  much 
earth,  and  feels  its  independency  the  surer.  Yet 
these  things  may  hardly  be  said  without  a  sort  of 
treachery  to  the  relation.  The  essence  of  friendship 
is  entireness,  a  total  magnanimity  andJxust.  It  must 
not  surmise  or  provide  for  infirmity.  It  treats  its 
object  as  a  god,  that  it  may  deify  both. 


PRUDENCE. 


Theme  no  poet  gladly  sung, 
Fair  to  old  and  foul  to  young, 
Scorn  not  thou  the  love  of  parts, 
And  the  articles  of  arts. 
Grandeur  of  the  perfect  sphere 
Thanks  the  atoms  that  cohere. 


ESSAY   VII. 
PRUDENCE 


WHAT  right  have  I  to  write  on  Prudence,  where 
of  I  have  little,  and  that  of  the  negative  sort  ?  My 
prudence  consists  in  avoiding  and  going  without,  not 
in  the  inventing  of  means  and  methods,  not  in  adroit 
steering,  not  in  gentle  repairing.  I  have  no  skill  to 
make  money  spend  well,  no  genius  in  my  economy, 
and  whoever  sees  my  garden  discovers  that  I  must 
have  some  other  garden.  Yet  I  love  facts,  and  hate 
lubricity,  and  people  without  perception.  Then  I 
have  the  same  title  to  write  on  prudence,  that  I  have 
to  write  on  poetry  or  holiness.  We  write  from 
aspiration  and  antagonism,  as  well  as  from  experi 
ence.  We  paint  those  qualities  which  we  do  not 
possess.  The  poet  admires  the  man  of  energy  and 
tactics  ;  the  merchant  breeds  his  son  for  the  church 
or  the  bar  :  and  where  a  man  is  not  vain  and  egotis 
tic,  you  shall  find  what  he  has  not  by  his  praise. 
Moreover,  it  would  be  hardly  honest  in  me  not  to 


202  ESSAY    VII. 

balance  these  fine  lyric  words  of  Love  and  Friend 
ship  with  words  of  coarser  sound,  and,  whilst  my 
debt  to  my  senses  is  real  and  constant,  not  to  own  it 
in  passing. 

Prudence  is  the  virtue  of  the  senses.  It  is  the 
science  of  appearances.  It  is  the  outmost  action  of 
the  inward  life.  It  is  God  taking  thought  for  oxen. 
It  moves  matter  after  the  laws  of  matter.  It  is 
content  to  seek  health  of  body  by  complying  with 
physical  conditions,  and  health  of  mind  by  the  laws 
of  the  intellect. 

The  world  of  the  senses  is  a  world  of  shows  ;  it 
does  not  exist  for  itself,  but  has  a  symbolic  char 
acter  ;  and  a  true  prudence  or  law  of  shows  rec 
ognizes  the  co-presence  of  other  laws,  and  knows 
that  its  own  office  is  subaltern  ;  knows  that  it  is  sur 
face  and  not  centre  where  it  works.  Prudence  is 
false  when  detached.  It  is  legitimate  \vhen  it  is  the 
Natural  History  of  the  soul  incarnate  ;  when  it  un 
folds  the  beauty  of  laws  within  the  narrow  scope  of 
the  senses. 

There  are  all  degrees  of  proficiency  in  knowledge 
of  the  world.  It  is  sufficient,  to  our  present  pur 
pose,  to  indicate  three.  One  class  live  to  the  utility 
of  the  symbol ;  esteeming  health  and  wealth  a  final 
good.  Another  class  live  above  this  mark  to  the 
beauty  of  the  symbol  ;  as  the  poet,  and  artist,  and 
the  naturalist,  and  man  of  science.  A  third  class 


PRUDENCE.  203 

live  above  the  beauty  of  the  symbol  to  the  beauty  of 
the  thing  signified  ;  these  are  wise  men.  The  first 
class  have  common  sense  ;  the  second,  taste  ;  and 
the  third,  spiritual  perception.  Once  in  a  long  time, 
a  man  traverses  the  whole  scale,  and  sees  and  enjoys 
the  symbol  solidly  ;  then  also  has  a  clear  eye  for  its 
beauty,  and,  lastly,  whilst  he  pitches  his  tent  on  this 
sacred  volcanic  isle  of  nature,  does  not  offer  to  build 
houses  and  barns  thereon,  reverencing  the  splendor 
of  the  God  which  he  sees  bursting  through  each 
chink  and  cranny. 

The  world  is  filled  with  the  proverbs  and  acts  and 
winkings  of  a  base  prudence,  which  is  a  devotion  to 
matter,  as  if  we  possessed  no  other  faculties  than  the 
palate,  the  nose,  the  touch,  the  eye  and  ear  ;  a  pru 
dence  which  adores  the  Rule  of  Three,  which  never 
subscribes,  which  never  gives,  which  seldom  lends, 
and  asks  but  one  question  of  any  project,  —  Will  it 
bake  bread  ?  This  is  a  disease  like  a  thickening  of 
the  skin  until  the  vital  organs  are  destroyed.  But 
culture,  revealing  the  high  origin  of  the  apparent 
world,  and  aiming  at  the  perfection  of  the  man  as  the 
end,  degrades  every  thing  else,  as  health  and  bodily 
life,  into  means.  It  sees  prudence  not  to  be  a  sev 
eral  faculty,  but  a  name  for  wisdom  and  virtue  con 
versing  with  the  body  and  its  wants.  Cultivated 
men  always  feel  and  speak  so,  as  if  a  great  fortune, 
the  achievement  of  a  civil  or  social  measure,  great 


204  ESSAY    VII. 

personal  influence,  a  graceful  and  commanding  ad 
dress,  had  their  value  as  proofs  of  the  energy  of  the 
spirit.  If  a  man  lose  his  balance,  and  immerse  him 
self  in  any  trades  or  pleasures  for  their  own  sake,  he 
may  be  a  good  wheel  or  pin,  but  he  is  not  a  cul 
tivated  man. 

The  spurious  prudence,  making  the  senses  final, 
is  the  god  of  sots  and  cowards,  and  is  the  subject  of 
all  comedy.  It  is  nature's  joke,  and  therefore  litera 
ture's.  The  true  prudence  limits  this  sensualism  by 
admitting  the  knowledge  of  an  internal  and  real 
world.  This  recognition  once  made,  —  the  order 
of  the  world  and  the  distribution  of  affairs  and  times 
being  studied  with  the  co-perception  of  their  subordi 
nate  place,  will  reward  any  degree  of  attention.  For 
our  existence,  thus  apparently  attached  in  nature  to 
the  sun  and  the  returning  moon  and  the  periods 
which  they  mark,  —  so  susceptible  to  climate  and  to 
country,  so  alive  to  social  good  and  evil,  so  fond  of 
splendor,  and  so  tender  to  hunger  and  cold  and 
debt,  —  reads  all  its  primary  lessons  out  of  these 
books. 

Prudence  does  not  go  behind  nature,  and  ask 
whence  it  is.  It  takes  the  laws  of  the  world,  where 
by  man's  being  is  conditioned,  as  they  are,  and  keeps 
these  laws,  that  it  may  enjoy  their  proper  good.  It 
respects  space  and  time,  climate,  want,  sleep,  the 
law  of  polarity,  growth,"  and  death.  There  revolve 


PRUDENCE.  205 

to  give  bound  and  period  to  his  being,  on  all  sides, 
the  sun  and  moon,  the  great  formalists  in  the  sky  : 
here  lies  stubborn  matter,  and  will  not  swerve  from 
its  chemical  routine.  Here  is  a  planted  globe, 
pierced  and  belted  with  natural  laws,  and  fenced 
and  distributed  externally  with  civil  partitions  and 
properties  which  impose  new  restraints  on  the  young 
inhabitant. 

We  eat  of  the  bread  which  grows  in  the  field. 
We  live  by  the  air  which  blows  around  us,  and  we 
are  poisoned  by  the  air  that  is  too  cold  or  too  hot, 
too  dry  or  too  wet.  Time,  which  shows  so  va 
cant,  indivisible,  and  divine  in  its  coming,  is  slit  and 
peddled  into  trifles  and  tatters.  A  door  is  to  be 
painted,  a  lock  to  be  repaired.  I  want  wood,  or  oil, 
or  meal,  or  salt  ;  the  house  smokes,  or  I  have  a 
headache  ;  then  the  tax  ;  and  an  affair  to  be  trans 
acted  with  a  man  without  heart  or  brains  ;  and  the 
stringing  recollection  of  an  injurious  or  very  awkward 
word,  —  these  eat  up  the  hours.  Do  what  we  can, 
summer  will  have  its  flies  :  if  we  walk  in  the  woods, 
we  must  feed  mosquitos  :  if  we  go  a-fishing,  we 
must  expect  a  wet  coat.  Then  climate  is  a  great 
impediment  to  idle  persons  :  we  often  resolve  to  give 
up  the  care  of  the  weather,  but  still  we  regard  the 
clouds  and  the  rain. 

We  are  instructed  by  these  petty  experiences 
which  usurp  the  hours  and  years.  The  hard  soil 


206  ESSAY    VII. 

and  four  months  of  snow  make  the  inhabitant  of  the 
northern  temperate  zone  wiser  and  abler  than  his  fel 
low  who  enjoys  the  fixed  srnile  of  the  tropics.  The 
islander  may  ramble  all  day  at  will.  At  night,  he 
may  sleep  on  a  mat  under  the  moon,  and  wherever  a 
wild  date-tree  grows,  nature  has,  without  a  prayer 
even,  spread  a  table  for  his  morning  meal.  The 
northerner  is  perforce  a  householder.  He  must 
brew,  bake,  salt,  and  preserve  his  food,  and  pile 
wood  and  coal.  But  as  it  happens  that  not  one 
stroke  can  labor  lay  to,  without  some  new  acquaint 
ance  with  nature  ;  and  as  nature  is  inexhaustibly 
significant,  the  inhabitants  of  these  climates  have 
always  excelled  the  southerner  in  force.  Such  is 
the  value  of  these  matters,  that  a  man  who  knows 
other  things  can  never  know  too  much  of  these. 
Let  him  have  accurate  perceptions.  Let  him,  if 
he  have  hands,  handle  ;  if  eyes,  measure  and  dis 
criminate  ;  let  him  accept  and  hive  every  fact  of 
chemistry,  natural  history,  and  economics ;  the  more 
he  has,  the  less  is  he  willing  to  spare  any  one.  Time 
is  always  bringing  the  occasions  that  disclose  their 
value.  Some  wisdom  comes  out  of  every  natural 
and  innocent  action.  The  domestic  man,  who  loves 
no  music  so  well  as  his  kitchen  clock,  and  the  airs 
which  the  logs  sing  to  him  as  they  burn  on  the  hearth, 
has  solaces  which  others  never  dream  of.  The  ap 
plication  of  means  to  ends  insures  victory  and  the 


PRUDENCE.  207 

songs  of  victory,  not  less  in  a  farm  or  a  shop  than  in 
the  tactics  of  party  or  of  war.  The  good  husband 
finds  method  as  efficient  in  the  packing  of  fire-wood 
in  a  shed,  or  in  the  harvesting  of  fruits  in  the  cellar, 
as  in  Peninsular  campaigns  or  the  files  of  the  Depart 
ment  of  State.  In  the  rainy  day,  he  builds  a  work 
bench,  or  gets  his  tool-box  set  in  the  corner  of  the 
barn-chamber,  and  stored  with  nails,  gimlet,  pincers, 
screwdriver,  and  chisel.  Herein  he  tastes  an  old 
joy  of  youth  and  childhood,  the  cat-like  love  of 
garrets,  presses,  and  corn-chambers,  and  of  the  con 
veniences  of  long  housekeeping.  His  garden  or  his 
poultry-yard  tells  him  many  pleasant  anecdotes.  One 
might  find  argument  for  optimism  in  the  abundant 
flow  of  this  saccharine  element  of  pleasure  in  every 
suburb  and  extremity  of  the  good  world.  Let  a 
man  keep  the  law,  —  any  law,  —  and  his  way  will  be 
strown  with  satisfactions.  There  is  more  difference 
in  the  quality  of  our  pleasures  than  in  the  amount. 

On  the  other  hand,  nature  punishes  any  neglect  of 
prudence.  If  you  think  the  senses  final,  obey  their 
law.  If  you  believe  in  the  soul,  do  not  clutch  at 
sensual  sweetness  before  it  is  ripe  on  the  slow  tree 
of  cause  and  effect.  It  is  vinegar  to  the  eyes,  to 
deal  with  men  of  loose  and  imperfect  perception. 
Dr.  Johnson  is  reported  to  have  said,  —  u  If  the  child 
says  he  looked  out  of  this  window,  when  he  looked 
out  of  that,  —  whip  him."  Our  American  character 


208 


ESSAY    VII. 


is  marked  by  a  more  than  average  delight  in  accurate 
perception,  which  is  shown  by  the  currency  of  the 
byword,  "  No  mistake."  But  the  discomfort  of 
unpunctuality,  of  confusion  of  thought  about  facts,  of 
inattention  to  the  wants  of  to-morrow,  is  of  no  nation. 
The  beautiful  laws  of  time  and  space,  once  dis 
located  by  our  inaptitude,  are  holes  and  dens.  If 
the  hive  be  disturbed  by  rash  and  stupid  hands,  in 
stead  of  honey,  it  will  yield  us  bees.  Our  wrords  and 
actions  to  be  fair  must  be  timely.  A  gay  and  pleas 
ant  sound  is  the  whetting  of  the  scythe  in  the  morn 
ings  of  June  ;  yet  what  is  more  lonesome  and  sad 
than  the  sound  of  a  whetstone  or  mower's  rifle, 
when  it  is  too  late  in  the  season  to  make  hay  ? 
Scatter-brained  and  "afternoon  men"  spoil  much 
more  than  their  own  affair,  in  spoiling  the  temper  of 
those  who  deal  with  them.  I  have  seen  a  criticism 
on  some  paintings,  of  which  I  am  reminded  when  I 
see  the  shiftless  and  unhappy  men  who  are  not  true 
to  their  senses.  The  last  Grand  Duke  of  Weimar, 
a  man  of  superior  understanding,  said  : — "I  have 
sometimes  remarked  in  the  presence  of  great  works 
of  art,  and  just  now  especially,  in  Dresden,  how 
much  a  certain  property  contributes  to  the  effect 
which  gives  life  to  the  figures,  and  to  the  life  an  ir 
resistible  truth.  This  property  is  the  hitting,  in  all 
the  figures  we  draw,  the  right  centre  of  gravity.  I 
mean,  the  placing  the  figures  firm  upon  their  feet, 


PRUDENCE.  209 

making  the  hands  grasp,  and  fastening  the  eyes  on 
the  spot  where  they  should  look.  Even  lifeless 
figures,  as  vessels  and  stools,  —  let  them  be  drawn 
ever  so  correctly,  —  lose  all  effect  so  soon  as  they 
lack  the  resting  upon  their  centre  of  gravity,  and 
have  a  certain  swimming  and  oscillating  appearance. 
The  Raphael,  in  the  Dresden  gallery,  (the  only 
greatly  affecting  picture  which  I  have  seen,)  is  the 
quietest  and  most  passionless  piece  you  can  imagine  ; 
a  couple  of  saints  who  worship  the  Virgin  and  Child. 
Nevertheless,  it  awakens  a  deeper  impression  than 
the  contortions  of  ten  crucified  martyrs.  For,  be 
side  all  the  resistless  beauty  of  form,  it  possesses  in 
the  highest  degree  the  property  of  the  perpendicu 
larity  of  all  the  figures."  This  perpendicularity  we 
demand  of  all  the  figures  in  this  picture  of  life.  Let 
them  stand  on  their  feet,  and  not  float  and  swing. 
Let  us  know  where  to  find  them.  Let  them  dis 
criminate  between  what  they  remember  and  what 
they  dreamed,  call  a  spade  a  spade,  give  us  facts, 
and  honor  their  own  senses  with  trust. 

But  what  man  shall  dare  tax  another  with  impru 
dence  ?  Who  is  prudent  ?  The  men  we  call  great 
est  are  least  in  this  kingdom.  There  is  a  certain 
fatal  dislocation  in  our  relation  to  nature,  distorting 
our  modes  of  living,  and  making  every  law  our 
enemy,  which  seems  at  last  to  have  aroused  all  the 
wit  and  virtue  in  the  world  to  ponder  the  question  of 
14 


ESSAY    VII. 


Reform.  We  must  call  the  highest  prudence  to 
counsel,  and  ask  why  health  and  beauty  and  genius 
should  now  be  the  exception,  rather  than  the  rule,  of 
human  nature  ?  We  do  not  know  the  properties  of 
plants  and  animals  and  the  laws  of  nature  through 
our  sympathy  with  the  same  ;  but  this  remains  the 
dream  of  poets.  Poetry  and  prudence  should  be 
coincident.  Poets  should  be  lawgivers  ;  that  is,  the 
boldest  lyric  inspiration  should  not  chide  and  insult, 
but  should  announce  and  lead,  the  civil  code,  and  the 
day's  work.  But  now  the  two  things  seem  irrecon 
cilably  parted.  We  have  violated  law  upon  law, 
until  we  stand  amidst  ruins,  and  when  by  chance  we 
espy  a  coincidence  between  reason  and  the  phe 
nomena,  we  are  surprised.  Beauty  should  be  the 
dowry  of  every  man  and  woman,  as  invariably  as 
sensation  ;  but  it  is  rare.  Health  or  sound  organiza 
tion  should  be  universal.  Genius  should  be  the  child 
of  genius,  and  every  child  should  be  inspired  ;  but 
now  it  is  not  to  be  predicted  of  any  child,  and  no 
where  is  it  pure.  We  call  partial  half-lights,  by 
courtesy,  genius  ;  talent  which  converts  itself  to 
money  ;  talent  which  glitters  to-day,  that  it  may  dine 
and  sleep  well  to-morrow  ;  and  society  is  officered 
by  men  of  parts,  as  they  are  properly  called,  and 
not  by  divine  men.  These  use  their  gifts  to  refine 
luxury,  not  to  abolish  it.  Genius  is  always  ascetic  ; 
and  piety  and  love.  Appetite  shows  to  the  finer 


PRUDENCE.  211 

souls  as  a  disease,  and  they  find  beauty  in  rites  and 
bounds  that  resist  it. 

We  have  found  out  fine  names  to  cover  our  sensu 
ality  withal,  but  no  gifts  can  raise  intemperance. 
The  man  of  talent  affects  to  call  his  transgressions  of 
the  laws  of  the  senses  trivial,  and  to  count  them 
nothing  considered  with  his  devotion  to  his  art.  His 
art  never  taught  him  lewdness,  nor  the  love  of  wine, 
nor  the  wish  to  reap  where  he  had  not  sowed.  His 
art  is  less  for  every  deduction  from  his  holiness,  and 
less  for  every  defect  of  common  sense.  On  him 
who  scorned  the  world,  as  he  said,  the  scorned  world 
wreaks  its  revenge.  He  that  despiseth  small  things 
will  perish  by  little  and  little.  Goethe's  Tasso  is 
very  likely  to  be  a  pretty  fair  historical  portrait,  and 
that  is  true  tragedy.  It  does  not  seem  to  me  so  gen 
uine  grief  when  some  tyrannous  Richard  the  Third 
oppresses  and  slays  a  score  of  innocent  persons,  as 
when  Antonio  and  Tasso,  both  apparently  right, 
wrong  each  other.  One  living  after  the  maxims  of 
this  world,  and  consistent  and  true  to  them,  the  other 
fired  with  all  divine  sentiments,  yet  grasping  also  at 
the  pleasures  of  sense,  without  submitting  to  their 
law.  That  is  a  grief  we  all  feel,  a  knot  we  cannot 
untie.  Tasso's  is  no  infrequent  case  in  modern 
biography.  A  man  of  genius,  of  an  ardent  tempera 
ment,  reckless  of  physical  laws,  self-indulgent,  be 
comes  presently  unfortunate,  querulous,  a  u  discom- 
fortable  cousin,"  a  thorn  to  himself  and  to  others. 


212  ESSAY   VII. 

The  scholar  shames  us  by  his  bifold  life.  Whilst 
something  higher  than  prudence  is  ac'tive,  he  is  admi 
rable  ;  when  common  sense  is  wanted,  he  is  an  en 
cumbrance.  Yesterday,  Caesar  was  not  so  great; 
to-day,  the  felon  at  the  gallows'  foot  is  not  more 
miserable.  Yesterday,  radiant  with  the  light  of  an 
ideal  world,  in  which  he  lives,  the  first  of  men  ;  and 
now  oppressed  by  wants  and  by  sickness,  for  which 
he  must  thank  himself.  He  resembles  the  pitiful 
drivellers,  whom  travellers  describe  as  frequenting  the 
bazaars  of  Constantinople,  who  skulk  about  all  day, 
yellow,  emaciated,  ragged,  sneaking  ;  and  at  evening, 
when  the  bazaars  are  open,  slink  to  the  opium-shop, 
swallow  their  morsel,  and  become  tranquil  and  glori 
fied  seers.  And  who  has  not  seen  the  tragedy  of 
imprudent  genius,  struggling  for  years  with  paltry 
pecuniary  difficulties,  at  last  sinking,  chilled,  exhaust 
ed,  and  fruitless,  like  a  giant  slaughtered  by  pins  ? 

Is  it  not  better  that  a  man  should  accept  the  first 
pains  and  mortifications  of  this  sort,  which  nature  is 
not  slack  in  sending  him,  as  hints  that  he  must  expect 
no  other  good  than  the  just  fruit  of  his  own  labor  and 
self-denial  ?  Health,  bread,  climate,  social  position, 
have  their  importance,  and  he  will  give  them  their 
due.  Let  him  esteem  Nature  a  perpetual  counsellor, 
and  her  perfections  the  exact  measure  of  our  devia 
tions.  Let  him  make  the  night  night,  and  the  day 
day.  Let  him  control  the  habit  of  expense.  Let 


PRUDENCE.  213 

him  see  that  as  much  wisdom  may  be  expended  on 
a  private  economy  as  on  an  empire,  and  as  much 
wisdom  may  be  drawn  from  it.  The  laws  of  the 
world  are  written  out  for  him  on  every  piece  of 
money  in  his  hand.  There  is  nothing  he  will  not  be 
the  better  for  knowing,  wrere  it  only  the  wisdom  of 
Poor  Richard  ;  or  the  State- Street  prudence  of  buy 
ing  by  the  acre  to  sell  by  the  foot ;  or  the  thrift  of 
the  agriculturist,  to  stick  a  tree  between  whiles,  be 
cause  it  will  grow  whilst  he  sleeps  ;  or  the  prudence 
which  consists  in  husbanding  little  strokes  of  the  tool, 
little  portions  of  time,  particles  of  stock,  and  small 
gains.  The  eye  of  prudence  may  never  shut.  Iron, 
if  kept  at  the  ironmonger's,  will  rust ;  beer,  if  not 
brewed  in  the  right  state  of  the  atmosphere,  will 
sour  ;  timber  of  ships  will  rot  at  sea,  or,  if  laid  up 
high  and  dry,  will  strain,  warp,  and  dry-rot ;  money, 
if  kept  by  us,  yields  no  rent,  and  is  liable  to  loss  ;  if 
invested,  is  liable  to  depreciation  of  the  particular 
kind  of  stock.  Strike,  says  the  smith,  the  iron  is 
white ;  keep  the  rake,  says  the  haymaker,  as  nigh  the 
scythe  as  you  can,  and  the  cart  as  nigh  the  rake. 
Our  Yankee  trade  is  reputed  to  be  very  much  on  the 
extreme  of  this  prudence.  It  takes  bank-notes,  — 
good,  bad,  clean,  ragged,  —  and  saves  itself  by  the 
speed  with  which  it  passes  them  off.  Iron  cannot 
rust,  nor  beer  sour,  nor  timber  rot,  nor  calicoes  go 
out  of  fashion,  nor  money  stocks  depreciate,  in  the 


214  ESSAY    VII. 

few  swift  moments  in  which  the  Yankee  suffers  any 
one  of  them  to  remain  in  his  possession.  In  skating 
over  thin  ice,  our  safety  is  in  our  speed. 

Let  him  learn  a  prudence  of  a  higher  strain.  Let 
him  learn  that  every  thing  in  nature,  even  motes  and 
feathers,  go  by  law  and  not  by  luck,  and  that  what 
he  sows  he  reaps.  By  diligence  and  self-command, 
let  him  put  the  bread  he  eats  at  his  own  disposal, 
that  he  may  not  stand  in  bitter  and  false  relations  to 
other  men  ;  for  the  best  good  of  wealth  is  freedom. 
Let  him  practise  the  minor  virtues.  How  much  of 
human  life  is  lost  in  waiting  !  let  him  not  make  his 
fellow-creatures  wait.  How  many  words  and 
promises  are  promises  of  conversation  !  let  his  be 
words  of  fate.  When  he  sees  a  folded  and  sealed 
scrap  of  paper  float  round  the  globe  in  a  pine  ship, 
and  come  safe  to  the  eye  for  which  it  was  written, 
amidst  a  swarming  population,  let  him  likewise  feel 
the  admonition  to  integrate  his  being  across  all  these 
distracting  forces,  and  keep  a  slender  human  word 
among  the  storms,  distances,  and  accidents  that 
drive  us  hither  and  thither,  and,  by  persistency, 
make  the  paltry  force  of  one  man  reappear  to  re 
deem  its  pledge,  after  months  and  years,  in  the  most 
distant  climates. 

We  must  not  try  to  write  the  laws  of  any  one  vir 
tue,  looking  at  that  only.  Human  nature  loves  no 
contradictions,  but  is  symmetrical.  The  prudence 


PRUDENCE.  215 

which  secures  an  outward  well-being  is  not  to  be 
studied  by  one  set  of  men,  whilst  heroism  and  holi 
ness  are  studied  by  another,  but  they  are  reconcila 
ble.  Prudence  concerns  the  present  time,  persons, 
property,  and  existing  forms.  But  as  every  fact 
hath  its  roots  in  the  soul,  and,  if  the  soul  were 
changed,  would  cease  to  be,  or  would  become  some 
other  thing,  the  proper  administration  of  outward 
things  will  always  rest  on  a  just  apprehension  of 
their  cause  and  origin,  that  is,  the  good  man  will 
be  the  wise  man,  and  the  single-hearted,  the  politic 
man.  Every  violation  of  truth  is  not  only  a  sort  of 
suicide  in  the  liar,  but  is  a  stab  at  the  health  of  hu 
man  society.  On  the  most  profitable  lie,  the  course 
of  events  presently  lays  a  destructive  tax  ;  whilst 
frankness  invites  frankness,  puts  the  parties  on  a 
convenient  footing,  and  makes  their  business  a  friend 
ship.  Trust  men,  and  they  will  be  true  to  you  ; 
treat  them  greatly,  and  they  will  show  themselves 
great,  though  they  make  an  exception  in  your  favor 
to  all  their  rules  of  trade. 

So,  in  regard  to  disagreeable  and  formidable 
things,  prudence  does  not  consist  in  evasion,  or  in 
flight,  but  in  courage.  He  who  wishes  to  walk  in 
the  most  peaceful  parts  of  life  with  any  serenity 
must  screw  himself  up  to  resolution.  Let  him  front 
the  object  of  his  worst  apprehension,  and  his  stout 
ness  will  commonly  make  his  fear  groundless.  The 


216  ESSAY    VII. 

Latin  proverb  says,  that  "  in  battles  the  eye  is  first 
overcome."  Entire  self-possession  may  make  a 
battle  very  little  more  dangerous  to  life  than  a  match 
at  foils  or  at  football.  Examples  are  cited  by  sol 
diers,  of  men  who  have  seen  the  cannon  pointed,  and 
the  fire  given  to  it,  and  who  have  stepped  aside  from 
the  path  of  the  ball.  The  terrors  of  the  storm  are 
chiefly  confined  to  the  parlour  and  the  cabin.  The 
drover,  the  sailor,  buffets  it  all  day,  and  his  health 
renews  itself  at  as  vigorous  a  pulse  under  the  sleet, 
as  under  the  sun  of  June. 

In  the  occurrence  of  unpleasant  things  among 
neighbours,  fear  cornes  readily  to  heart,  and  magnifies 
the  consequence  of  the  other  party  ;  but  it  is  a  bad 
counsellor.  Every  man  is  actually  weak,  and  appar 
ently  strong.  To  himself,  he  seems  weak  ;  to  others, 
formidable.  You  are  afraid  of  Grim  ;  but  Grim  also 
is  afraid  of  you.  You  are  solicitous  of  the  good-will 
of  the  meanest  person,  uneasy  at  his  ill-will.  But 
the  sturdiest  offender  of  your  peace  and  of  the  neigh 
bourhood,  if  you  rip  up  his  claims,  is  as  thin  and  timid 
as  any  ;  and  the  peace  of  society  is  often  kept,  be 
cause,  as  children  say,  one  is  afraid,  and  the  other 
dares  not.  Far  off,  men  swell,  bully,  and  threaten  ; 
bring  them  hand  to  hand,  and  they  are  a  feeble  folk. 

It  is  a  proverb,  that  c  courtesy  costs  nothing  '  ; 
but  calculation  might  come  to  value  love  for  its  profit. 
Love  is  fabled  to  be  blind  ;  but  kindness  is  necessary 


PRUDENCE.  217 

to  perception  ;  love  is  not  a  hood,  but  an  eye-water. 
If  you  meet  a  sectary,  or  a  hostile  partisan,  never 
recognize  the  dividing  lines  ;  but  meet  on  what  com 
mon  ground  remains,  —  if  only  that  the  sun  shines, 
and  the  rain  rains  for  both  ;  the  area  will  widen 
very  fast,  and  ere  you  know  it  the  boundary  moun 
tains,  on  which  the  eye  had  fastened,  have  melted 
into  air.  If  they  set  out  to  contend,  Saint  Paul  will 
lie,  and  Saint  John  will  hate.  What  low,  poor, 
paltry,  hypocritical  people  an  argument  on  religion 
will  make  of  the  pure  and  chosen  souls  !  They  will 
shuffle,  and  crow,  crook,  and  hide,  feign  to  confess 
here,  only  that  they  may  brag  and  conquer  there,  and 
not  a  thought  has  enriched  either  party,  and  not  an 
emotion  of  bravery,  modesty,  or  hope.  So  neither 
should  you  put  yourself  in  a  false  position  with  your 
contemporaries,  by  indulging  a  vein  of  hostility  and 
bitterness.  Though  your  views  are  in  straight  antag 
onism  to  theirs,  assume  an  identity  of  sentiment,  as 
sume  that  you  are  saying  precisely  that  which  all 
think,  and  in  the  flow  of  wit  and  love  roll  out  your 
paradoxes  in  solid  column,  with  not  the  infirmity  of 
a  doubt.  So  at  least  shall  you  get  an  adequate  deliv 
erance.  The  natural  motions  of  the  soul  are  so 
much  better  than  the  voluntary  ones,  that  you  will 
never  do  yourself  justice  in  dispute.  The  thought  is 
not  then  taken  hold  of  by  the  right  handle,  does  not 
show  itself  proportioned,  and  in  its  true  bearings,  but 


218  ESSAY   VII. 

bears  extorted,  hoarse,  and  half  witness.  But  as 
sume  a  consent,  and  it  shall  presently  be  granted, 
since,  really,  and  underneath  their  external  diver 
sities,  all  men  are  of  one  heart  and  mind. 

Wisdom  will  never  let  us  stand  with  any  man  or 
men  on  an  unfriendly  footing.  We  refuse  sympathy 
and  intimacy  with  people,  as  if  we  waited  for  some 
better  sympathy  and  intimacy  to  come.  But  whence 
and  when  ?  To-morrow  will  be  like  to-day.  Life 
wastes  itself  whilst  we  are  preparing  to  live.  Our 
friends  and  fellow- workers  die  off  from  us.  Scarcely 
can  we  say,  we  see  new  men,  new  women,  approach 
ing  us.  We  are  too  old  to  regard  fashion,  too  old 
to  expect  patronage  of  any  greater  or  more  power 
ful.  Let  us  suck  the  sweetness  of  those  affections 
and  consuetudes  that  grow  near  us.  These  old 
shoes  are  easy  to  the  feet.  Undoubtedly,  we  can 
easily  pick  faults  in  our  company,  can  easily  whisper 
names  prouder,  and  that  tickle  the  fancy  more. 
Every  man's  imagination  hath  its  friends  ;  and  life 
would  be  dearer  with  such  companions.  But,  if  you 
cannot  have  them  on  good  mutual  terms,  you  cannot 
have  them.  If  not  the  Deity,  but  our  ambition,  hews 
and  shapes  the  new  relations,  their  virtue  escapes,  as 
strawberries  lose  their  flavor  in  garden-beds. 

Thus  truth,  frankness,  courage,  love,  humility, 
and  all  the  virtues,  range  themselves  on  the  side  of 
prudence,  or  the  art  of  securing  a  present  well-being. 


PRUDENCE.  219 

I  do  not  know  if  all  matter  will  be  found  to  be  made 
of  one  element,  as  oxygen  or  hydrogen,  at  last,  but 
the  world  of  manners  and  actions  is  wrought  of  one 
stuff,  and,  begin  where  we  will,  we  are  pretty  sure  in 
a  short  space  to  be  mumbling  our  ten  command 
ments. 


HEROISM. 


Paradise  is  under  the  shadow  of  swords." 

Mahomet. 


Ruby  wine  is  drunk  by  knaves, 
Sugar  spends  to  fatten  slaves, 
Rose  and  vine-leaf  deck  buffoons ; 
Thunderclouds  are  Jove's  festoons, 
Drooping  oft  in  wreaths  of  dread 
Lightning-knotted  round  his  head ; 
The  hero  is  not  fed  on  sweets, 
Daily  his  own  heart  he  eats  ; 
Chambers  of  the  great  are  jails, 
And  head-winds  right  for  royal  sails. 


ESSAY    VIII. 

HEROISM 


IN  the  elder  English  dramatists,  and  mainly  in  the 
plays  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  there  is  a  constant 
recognition  of  gentility,  as  if  a  noble  behaviour  were 
as  easily  marked  in  the  society  of  their  age,  as  color 
is  in  our  American  population.  When  any  Rodrigo, 
Pedro,  or  Valerio  enters,  though  he  be  a  stranger, 
the  duke  or  governor  exclaims,  This  is  a  gentleman, 
—  and  proffers  civilities  without  end  ;  but  all  the 
rest  are  slag  and  refuse.  In  harmony  with  this  de 
light  in  personal  advantages,  there  is  in  their  plays  a 
certain  heroic  cast  of  character  and  dialogue,  —  as 
in  Bonduca,  Sophocles,  the  Mad  Lover,  the  Double 
Marriage,  —  wherein  the  speaker  is  so  earnest  and 
cordial,  and  on  such  deep  grounds  of  character,  that 
the  dialogue,  on  the  slightest  additional  incident  in 
the  plot,  rises  naturally  into  poetry.  Among  many 
texts,  take  the  following.  The  Roman  Martius  has 
conquered  Athens,  —  all  but  the  invincible  spirits  of 


224  ESSAY   VIII. 

Sophocles,  the  duke  of  Athens,  and  Dorigen,  his 
wife.  The  beauty  of  the  latter  inflames  Martius, 
and  he  seeks  to  save  her  husband  ;  but  Sophocles 
will  not  ask  his  life,  although  assured  that  a  word  will 
save  him,  and  the  execution  of  both  proceeds. 

"  Valerius.     Bid  thy  wife  farewell. 

Soph.    No,  I  will  take  no  leave.     My  Dorigen, 
Yonder,  above,  'bout  Ariadne's  crown, 
My  spirit  shall  hover  for  thee.     Prithee,  haste. 

Dor.     Stay,  Sophocles, — with  this  tie  up  rny  sight; 
Let  not  soft  nature  so  transformed  be, 
And  lose  her  gentler  sexed  humanity, 
To  make  me  see  my  lord  bleed.     So,  't  is  well ; 
Never  one  object  underneath  the  sun 
Will  I  behold  before  my  Sophocles  : 
Farewell ;  now  teach  the  Romans  how  to  die. 

Mar.     Dost  know  what  't  is  to  die  ? 

Soph.     Thou  dost  not,  Martius, 
And,  therefore,  not  what  't  is  to  live  ;  to  die 
Is  to  begin  to  live.     It  is  to  end 
An  old,  stale,  weary  work,  and  to  commence 
A  newer  and  a  better.     'T  is  to  leave 
Deceitful  knaves  for  the  society 
Of  gods  and  goodness.     Thou  thyself  must  part 
At  last  from  all  thy  garlands,  pleasures,  triumphs, 
And  prove  thy  fortitude  what  then  't  will  do. 

Vol.     But  art  not  grieved  nor  vexed  to  leave  thy  life  thus  ? 

Soph.     Why  should  I  grieve  or  vex  for  being  sent 
To  them  I  ever  loved  best  ?     Now  I  '11  kneel, 
But  with  my  back  toward  thee  ;  't  is  the  last  duty 
This  trunk  can  do  the  gods. 

Mar.     Strike,  strike,  Valerius, 
Or  Martius'  heart  will  leap  out  at  his  mouth  : 
This  is  a  man,,a  woman !     Kiss  thy  lord, 


HEROISM.  2*25 

And  live  with  all  the  freedom  you  were  wont. 
O  love !  thou  doubly  hast  afflicted  me 
With  virtue  and  with  beauty.     Treacherous  heart, 
My  hand  shall  cast  thee  quick  into  my  urn, 
Ere  thou  transgress  this  knot  of  piety. 

Vol.     What  ails  my  brother  ? 

Soph.     Martius,  O  Martius, 
Thou  now  hast  found  a  way  to  conquer  me. 

Dor.     O  star  of  Rome  !  what  gratitude  can  speak 
Fit  words  to  follow  such  a  deed  as  this  ? 

Mar.     This  admirable  duke,  Valerius, 
With  his  disdain  of  fortune  and  of  death, 
Captived  himself,  has  captivated  me, 
And  though  my  arm  hath  ta'en  his  body  here, 
His  soul  hath  subjugated  Martius'  soul. 
By  Romulus,  he  is  all  soul,  I  think; 
He  hath  no  flesh,  and  spirit  cannot  be  gyved  ; 
Then  we  have  vanquished  nothing  ;  he  is  free, 
And  Martius  walks  now  in  captivity." 

I  do  not  readily  remember  any  poem,  play,  ser 
mon,  novel,  or  oration,  that  our  press  vents  in  the 
last  few  years,  which  goes  to  the  same  tune.  We 
have  a  great  many  flutes  and  flageolets,  but  not  often 
the  sound  of  any  fife.  Yet,  Wordsworth's  Laoda- 
mia,  and  the  ode  of  "Dion,"  and  some  sonnets, 
have  a  certain  noble  music  ;  and  Scott  will  some 
times  draw  a  stroke  like  the  portrait  of  Lord  Evan- 
dale,  given  by  Balfour  of  Burley.  Thomas  Carlyle, 
with  his  natural  taste  for  what  is  manly  and  daring  in 
character,  has  suffered  no  heroic  trait  in  his  favorites 
to  drop  from  his  biographical  and  historical  pictures. 
Earlier,  Robert  Burns  has  given  us  a  song  or  two. 
15 


226  ESSAY   VIII. 

In  the  Harleian  Miscellanies,  there  is  an  account  of 
the  battle  of  Lutzen,  which  deserves  to  be  read. 
And  Simon  Ockley's  History  of  the  Saracens  re 
counts  the  prodigies  of  individual  valor  with  admira 
tion,  all  the  more  evident  on  the  part  of  the  narrator, 
that  he  seems  to  think  that  his  place  in  Christian 
Oxford  requires  of  him  some  proper  protestations  of 
abhorrence.  But,  if  we  explore  the  literature  of 
Heroism,  we  shall  quickly  come  to  Plutarch,  who 
is  its  Doctor  and  historian.  To  him  we  owe  the 
Brasidas,  the  Dion,  the  Epaminondas,  the  Scipio 
of  old,  and  I  must  think  we  are  more  deeply  indebt 
ed  to  him  than  to  all  the  ancient  writers.  Each  of 
his  "  Lives  "  is  a  refutation  to  the  despondency  and 
cowardice  of  our  religious  and  political  theorists. 
A  wild  courage,  a  Stoicism  not  of  the  schools,  but 
of  the  blood,  shines  in  every  anecdote,  and  has  given 
that  book  its  immense  fame. 

We  need  books  of  this  tart  cathartic  virtue,  more 
than  books  of  political  science,  or  of  private  econo 
my.  Life  is  a  festival  only  to  the  wise.  Seen  from 
the  nook  and  chimney-side  of  prudence,  it  wears  a 
ragged  and  dangerous  front.  The  violations  of  the 
laws  of  nature  by  our  predecessors  and  our  contem 
poraries  are  punished  in  us  also  The  disease  and 
deformity  around  us  certify  the  infraction  of  natural, 
intellectual,  and  moral  laws,  and  often  violation  on 
violation  to  breed  such  compound  misery.  A  lock- 


HEROISM.  227 

jaw  that  bends  a  man's  head  back  to  his  heels,  hy 
drophobia,  that  makes  him  bark  at  his  wife  and 
babes,  insanity,  that  makes  him  eat  grass  ;  war, 
plague,  cholera,  famine,  indicate  a  certain  ferocity 
in  nature,  which,  as  it  had  its  inlet  by  human  crime, 
must  have  its  outlet  by  human  suffering.  Unhappily, 
no  man  exists  who  has  not  in  his  own  person  be 
come,  to  some  amount,  a  stockholder  in  the  sin, 
and  so  made  himself  liable  to  a  share  in  the  ex 
piation. 

Our  culture,  therefore,  must  not  omit  the  arming 
of  the  man.  Let  him  hear  in  season,  that  he  is  born 
into  the  state  of  war,  and  that  the  commonwealth  and 
his  own  well-being  require  that  he  should  not  go  dan 
cing  in  the  weeds  of  peace,  but  warned,  self-collect 
ed,  and  neither  defying  nor  dreading  the  thunder,  let 
him  take  both  reputation  and  life  in  his  hand,  and, 
with  perfect  urbanity,  dare  the  gibbet  and  the  mob  by 
the  absolute  truth  of  his  speech,  and  the  rectitude  of 
his  behaviour. 

Towards  all  this  external  evil,  the  man  within  the 
breast  assumes  a  warlike  attitude,  and  affirms  his 
ability  to  cope  single-handed  with  the  infinite  army 
of  enemies.  To  this  military  attitude  of  the  soul 
we  give  the  name  of  Heroism.  Its  rudest  form  is 
the  contempt  for  safety  and  ease,  which  makes  the 
attractiveness  of  war.  It  is  a  self-trust  which  slights 
the  restraints  of  prudence,  in  the  plenitude  of  its  en- 


228  ESSAY  vin. 

ergy  and  power  to  repair  the  harms  it  may  suffer. 
The  hero  is  a  mind  of  such  balance  that  no  disturb 
ances  can  shake  his  will,  but  pleasantly,  and,  as  it 
were,  merrily,  he  advances  to  his  own  music,  alike  in 
frightful  alarms  and  in  the  tipsy  mirth  of  universal 
dissoluteness.  There  is  somewhat  not  philosophical 
in  heroism  ;  there  is  somewhat  not  holy  in  it  ;  it 
seems  not  to  know  that  other  souls  are  of  one  texture 
with  it  ;  it  has  pride  ;  it  is  the  extreme  of  individual 
nature.  Nevertheless,  we  must  profoundly  revere  it. 
There  is  somewhat  in  great  actions,  which  does  not 
allow  us  to  go  behind  them.  Heroism  feels  and 
never  reasons,  and  therefore  is  always  right ;  and  al 
though  a  different  breeding,  different  religion,  and 
greater  intellectual  activity  would  have  modified  or 
even  reversed  the  particular  action,  yet  for  the  hero 
that  thing  he  does  is  the  highest  deed,  and  is  not  open 
to  the  censure  of  philosophers  or  divines.  It  is  the 
avowal  of  the  unschooled  man,  that  he  finds  a  quality 
in  him  that  is  negligent  of  expense,  of  health,  of  life, 
of  danger,  of  hatred,  of  reproach,  and  knows  that  his 
will  is  higher  and  more  excellent  than  all  actual  and 
all  possible  antagonists. 

Heroism  works  in  contradiction  to  the  voice  of 
mankind,  and  in  contradiction,  for  a  time,  to  the 
voice  of  the  great  and  good.  Heroism  is  an  obedi 
ence  to  a  secret  impulse  of  an  individual's  character. 
Now  to  no  other  man  can  its  wisdom  appear  as  it 


HEROISM.  229 

does  to  him,  for  every  man  must  be  supposed  to  see 
a  little  farther  on  his  own  proper  path  than  any  one 
else.  Therefore,  just  and  wise  men  take  umbrage  at 
his  act,  until  after  some  little  time  be  past :  then  they 
see  it  to  be  in  unison  with  their  acts.  All  prudent 
men  see  that  the  action  is  clean  contrary  to  a  sensual 
prosperity  ;  for  every  heroic  act  measures  itself  by 
its  contempt  of  some  external  good.  But  it  finds  its 
own  success  at  last,  and  then  the  prudent  also  extol. 
Self-trust  is  the  essence  of  heroism;  It  is  the 
state  of  the  soul  at  war,  and  its  ultimate  objects  are 
the  last  defiance  of  falsehood  and  wrong,  and  the 
power  to  bear  all  that  can  be  inflicted  by  evil  agents. 
It  speaks  the  truth,  and  it  is  just,  generous,  hospi 
table,  temperate,  scornful  of  petty  calculations,  and 
scornful  of  being  scorned.  It  persists  ;  it  is  of  an 
undaunted  boldness,  and  of  a  fortitude  not  to  be 
wearied  out.  Its  jest  is  the  littleness  of  common 
life.  That  false  prudence  which  dotes  on  health 
and  wealth  is  the  butt  and  merriment  of  heroism. 
Heroism,  like  Plotinus,  is  almost  ashamed  of  its 
body.  What  shall  it  say,  then,  to  the  sugar-plums 
and  cats'-cradles,  to  the  toilet,  compliments,  quarrels, 
cards,  and  custard,  which  rack  the  wit  of  all  society. 
What  joys  has  kind  nature  provided  for  us  dear 
creatures  !  There  seems  to  be  no  interval  between 
greatness  and  meanness.  When  the  spirit  is  not 
master  of  the  world,  then  it  is  its  dupe.  Yet  the  little 


230  ESSAY   VIII. 

man  takes  the  great  hoax  so  innocently,  works  in  it 
so  headlong  and  believing,  is  born  red,  and  dies  gray, 
arranging  his  toilet,  attending  on  his  own  health,  lay 
ing  traps  for  sweet  food  and  strong  wine,  setting  his 
heart  on  a  horse  or  a  rifle,  made  happy  with  a  little 
gossip  or  a  little  praise,  that  the  great  soul  cannot 
choose  but  laugh  at  such  earnest  nonsense.  u  Indeed, 
these  humble  considerations  make  me  out  of  love 
with  greatness.  What  a  disgrace  is  it  to  me  to  take 
note  how  many  pairs  of  silk  stockings  thou  hast, 
namely,  these  and  those  that  were  the  peach-colored 
ones  ;  or  to  bear  the  inventory  of  thy  shirts,  as  one 
for  superfluity,  and  one  other  for  use  !  " 

Citizens,  thinking  after  the  laws  of  arithmetic,  con 
sider  the  inconvenience  of  receiving  strangers  at  their 
fireside,  reckon  narrowly  the  loss  of  time  and  the  un 
usual  display  :  the  soul  of  a  better  quality  thrusts 
back  the  unseasonable  economy  into  the  vaults  of 
life,  and  says,  I  will  obey  the  God,  and  the  sacrifice 
and  the  fire  he  will  provide.  Ibn  Hankal,  the  Ara 
bian  geographer,  describes  a  heroic  extreme  in  the 
hospitality  of  Sogd,  in  Bukharia.  "  When  I  was 
in  Sogd,  I  saw  a  great  building,  like  a  palace,  the 
gates  of  which  were  open  and  fixed  back  to  the  wall 
with  large  nails.  I  asked  the  reason,  and  was  told 
that  the  house  had  not  been  shut,  night  or  day,  for  a 
hundred  years.  Strangers  may  present  themselves 
at  any  hour,  and  in  whatever  number ;  the  master  has 


HEROISM.  231 


amply  provided  for  the  reception  of  the  men  and 
their  animals,  and  is  never  happier  than  when  they 
tarry  for  some  time.  Nothing  of  the  kind  have  I 
seen  in  any  other  country."  The  magnanimous 
know  very  well  that  they  who  give  time,  or  money, 
or  shelter,  to  the  stranger  —  so  it  be  done  for  love, 
and  not  for  ostentation  —  do,  as  it  were,  put  God  un 
der  obligation  to  them,  so  perfect  are  the  compensa 
tions  of  the  universe.  In  some  way  the  time  they 
seem  to  lose  is  redeemed,  and  the  pains  they  seem 
to  take  remunerate  themselves.  These  men  fan  the 
flame  of  human  love,  and  raise  the  standard  of  civil 
virtue  among  mankind.  But  hospitality  must  be  for 
service,  and  not  for  show,  or  it  pulls  down  the  host. 
The  brave  soul  rates  itself  too  high  to  value  itself  by 
the  splendor  of  its  table  and  draperies.  It  gives 
what  it  hath,  and  all  it  hath,  but  its  own  majesty  can 
lend  a  better  grace  to  bannocks  and  fair  water  than 
belong  to  city  feasts. 

The  temperance  of  the  hero  proceeds  from  the 
same  wish  to  do  no  dishonor  to  the  worthiness  he 
has.  But  he  loves  it  for  its  elegancy,  not  for  its  aus 
terity.  It  seems  not  worth  his  while  to  be  solemn, 
and  denounce  with  bitterness  flesh-eating  or  wine- 
drinking,  the  use  of  tobacco,  or  opium,  or  tea,  or 
silk,  or  gold.  A  great  man  scarcely  knows  how  he 
dines,  how  he  dresses  ;  but  without  railing  or  precis 
ion,  his  living  is  natural  and  poetic.  John  Eliot, 


ESSAY    VIII. 

the  Indian  Apostle,  drank  water,  and  said  of  wine,  - 
"It  is  a  noble,  generous  liquor,  and  we  should  be 
humbly  thankful  for  it,  but,  as  I  remember,  water  was 
made  before  it."  Better  still  is  the  temperance  of 
King  David,  who  poured  out  on  the  ground  unto  the 
Lord  the  water  which  three  of  his  warriors  had 
brought  him  to  drink,  at  the  peril  of  their  lives. 

It  is  told  of  Brutus,  that  when  he  fell  on  his  sword, 
after  the  battle  of  Philippi,  he  quoted  a  line  of  Eu 
ripides,  —  "  O  virtue  !  I  have  followed  thee  through 
life,  and  I  find  thee  at  last  but  a  shade."  I  doubt 
not  the  hero  is  slandered  by  this  report.  The  heroic 
soul  does  not  sell  its  justice  and  its  nobleness.  It 
does  not  ask  to  dine  nicely,  and  to  sleep  warm. 
The  essence  of  greatness  is  the  perception  that  vir 
tue  is  enough.  Poverty  is  its  ornament.  It  does 
not  need  plenty,  and  can  very  well  abide  its  loss. 

But  that  which  takes  my  fancy  most,  in  the  heroic 
class,  is  the  good-humor  and  hilarity  they  exhibit. 
It  is  a  height  to  which  common  duty  can  very  well 
attain,  to  suffer  and  to  dare  with  solemnity.  But 
these  rare  souls  set  opinion,  success,  and  life,  at  so 
cheap  a  rate,  that  they  will  not  soothe  their  enemies 
by  petitions,  or  the  show  of  sorrow,  but  wear  their 
own  habitual  greatness.  Scipio,  charged  with  pecu 
lation,  refuses  to  do  himself  so  great  a  disgrace  as 
to  wait  for  justification,  though  he  had  the  scroll  of 
his  accounts  in  his  hands,  but  tears  it  to  pieces  be- 


HEROISM.  233 

fore  the  tribunes.  Socrates 's  condemnation  of  him 
self  to  be  maintained  in  all  honor  in  the  Prytaneum, 
during  his  life,  and  Sir  Thomas  M ore's  playfulness  at 
the  scaffold,  are  of  the  same  strain.  In  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher's  "  Sea  Voyage,"  Juletta  tells  the 
stout  captain  and  his  company,  — 

"  Jul.    Why,  slaves,  't  is  in  our  power  to  hang  ye. 

Master.  Very  likely, 

'T  is  in  our  powers,  then,  to  be  hanged,  and  scorn  ye." 

These  replies  are  sound  and  whole.  Sport  is  the 
bloom  and  glow  of  a  perfect  health.  The  great  will 
not  condescend  to  take  any  thing  seriously  ;  all  must 
be  as  gay  as  the  song  of  a  canary,  though  it  were  the 
building  of  cities,  or  the  eradication  of  old  and  foolish 
churches  and  nations,  which  have  cumbered  the  earth 
long  thousands  of  years.  Simple  hearts  put  all  the 
history  and  customs  of  this  world  behind  them,  and 
play  their  own  game  in  innocent  defiance  of  the  Blue- 
Laws  of  the  world  ;  and  such  would  appear,  could  we 
see  the  human  race  assembled  in  vision,  like  little 
children  frolicking  together ;  though,  to  the  eyes  of 
mankind  at  large,  they  wear  a  stately  and  solemn 
garb  of  works  and  influences. 

The  interest  these  fine  stories  have  for  us,  the 
power  of  a  romance  over  the  boy  who  grasps  the 
forbidden  book  under  his  bench  at  school,  our  delight 
in  the  hero,  is  the  main  fact  to  our  purpose.  All 
these  great  and  transcendent  properties  are  ours.  If 


234  ESSAY    VIII. 

we  dilate  in  beholding  the  Greek  energy,  the  Roman 
pride,  it  is  that  we  are  already  domesticating  the 
same  sentiment.  Let  us  find  room  for  this  great 
guest  in  our  small  houses.  The  first  step  of  wor 
thiness  will  be  to  disabuse  us  of  our  superstitious  as 
sociations  with  places  and  times,  with  number  and 
size.  Why  should  these  words,  Athenian,  Roman, 
Asia,  and  England,  so  tingle  in  the  ear  ?  Where  the 
heart  is,  there  the  muses,  there  the  gods  sojourn,  and 
not  in  any  geography  of  fame.  Massachusetts,  Con 
necticut  River,  and  Boston  Bay,  you  think  paltry 
places,  and  the  ear  loves  names  of  foreign  and  clas 
sic  topography.  But  here  we  are  ;  and,  if  we  will 
tarry  a  little,  we  may  come  to  learn  that  here  is  best. 
See  to  it,  only,  that  thyself  is  here  ;  —  and  art  and 
nature,  hope  and  fate,  friends,  angels,  and  the  Su 
preme  Being,  shall  not  be  absent  from  the  chamber 
where  thou  sittest.  Epaminondas,  brave  and  affec 
tionate,  does  not  seem  to  us  to  need  Olympus  to  die 
upon,  nor  the  Syrian  sunshine.  He  lies  very  well 
where  he  is.  The  Jerseys  were  handsome  ground 
enough  for  Washington  to  tread,  and  London  streets 
for  the  feet  of  Milton.  A  great  man  makes  his  cli 
mate  genial  in  the  imagination  of  men,  and  its  air  the 
beloved  element  of  all  delicate  spirits.  That  coun 
try  is  the  fairest,  which  is  inhabited  by  the  noblest 
minds.  The  pictures  which  fill  the  imagination  in 
reading  the  actions  of  Pericles,  Xenophon,  Colum- 


HEROISM.  235 

bus,  Bayard,  Sidney,  Hampden,  teach  us  how 
needlessly  mean  our  life  is,  that  we,  by  the  depth 
of  our  living,  should  deck  it  with  more  than  re 
gal  or  national  splendor,  and  act  on  principles 
that  should  interest  man  and  nature  in  the  length 
of  our  days. 

We  have  seen  or  heard  of  many  extraordinary 
young  men,  who  never  ripened,  or  whose  perform 
ance  in  actual  life  was  not  extraordinary.  When  we 
see  their  air  and  mien,  when  we  hear  them  speak  of 
society,  of  books,  of  religion,  we  admire  their  supe 
riority,  they  seem  to  throw  contempt  on  our  entire 
polity  and  social  state  ;  theirs  is  the  tone  of  a  youth 
ful  giant,  who  is  sent  to  work  revolutions.  But  they 
enter  an  active  profession,  and  the  forming  Colossus 
shrinks  to  the  common  size  of  man.  The  magic 
they  used  was  the  ideal  tendencies,  which  always 
make  the  Actual  ridiculous  ;  but  the  tough  world  had 
its  revenge  the  moment  they  put  their  horses  of  the 
sun  to  plough  in  its  furrow.  They  found  no  exam 
ple  and  no  companion,  and  their  heart  fainted. 
What  then  ?  The  lesson  they  gave  in  their  first 
aspirations  is  yet  true  ;  and  a  better  valor  and  a 
purer  truth  shall  one  day  organize  their  belief.  Or 
why  should  a  woman  liken  herself  to  any  historical 
woman,  and  think,  because  Sappho,  or  Sevigne,  or 
De  Stael,  or  the  cloistered  souls  who  have  had  ge 
nius  and  cultivation,  do  not  satisfy  the  imagination 


236  ESSAY    VIII. 

and  the  serene  Themis,  none  can,  —  certainly  not 
she.  Why  not  ?  She  has  a  new  and  unattempted 
problem  to  solve,  perchance  that  of  the  happiest  na 
ture  that  ever  bloomed.  Let  the  maiden,  with  erect 
soul,  walk  serenely  on  her  way,  accept  the  hint  of 
each  new  experience,  search  in  turn  all  the  objects 
that  solicit  her  eye,  that  she  may  learn  the  power 
and  the  charm  of  her  new-born  being,  which  is  the 
kindling  of  a  new  dawn  in  the  recesses  of  space. 
The  fair  girl,  who  repels  interference  by  a  decided 
and  proud  choice  of  influences,  so  careless  of  pleas 
ing,  so  wilful  and  lofty,  inspires  every  beholder  with 
somewhat  of  her  own  nobleness.  The  silent  heart 
encourages  her ;  O  friend,  never  strike  sail  to  a  fear  ! 
Come  into  port  greatly,  or  sail  with  God  the  seas. 
Not  in  vain  you  live,  for  every  passing  eye  is  cheered 
and  refined  by  the  vision. 

The  characteristic  of  heroism  is  its  persistency. 
All  men  have  wandering  impulses,  fits,  and  starts  of 
generosity.  But  when  you  have  chosen  your  part, 
abide  by  it,  and  do  not  weakly  try  to  reconcile  your 
self  with  the  world.  The  heroic  cannot  be  the  com 
mon,  nor  the  common  the  heroic.  Yet  we  have  the 
weakness  to  expect  the  sympathy  of  people  in  those 
actions  whose  excellence  is  that  they  outrun  sympa 
thy,  and  appeal  to  a  tardy  justice.  If  you  would 
serve  your  brother,  because  it  is  fit  for  you  to  serve 
him,  do  not  take  back  your  words  when  you  find  that 


HEROISM.  237 

prudent  people  do  not  commend  you.  Adhere  to 
your  own  act,  and  congratulate  yourself  if  you  have 
done  something  strange  and  extravagant,  and  broken 
the  monotony  of  a  decorous  age.  It  was  a  high 
counsel  that  I  once  heard  given  to  a  young  person, — 
"  Always  do  what  you  are  afraid  to  dq.^'  A  simple, 
manly  character  need  never  make  an  apology,  but 
should  regard  its  past  action  with  the  calmness  of 
Phocion,  when  he  admitted  that  the  event  of  the 
battle  was  happy,  yet  did  not  regret  his  dissuasion 
from  the  battle. 

There  is  no  weakness  or  exposure  for  which  we 
cannot  find  consolation  in  the  thought, — ^this  is  a 
part  of  my  constitution,  part  of  my  relation  and  of 
fice  to  my  fellow-creature.  Has  nature  covenanted 
with  me  that  I  should  never  appear  to  disadvantage, 
never  make  a  ridiculous  figure  ?  Let  us  be  gener 
ous  of  our  dignity,  as  well  as  of  our  money.  Great 
ness  once  and  for  ever  has  done  with  opinion.  We 
tell  our  charities,  not  because  we  wish  to  be  praised 
for  them,  not  because  we  think  they  have  great  mer 
it,  but  for  our  justification.  It  is  a  capital  blunder  ; 
as  you  discover,  when  another  man  recites  his  char 
ities. 

To  speak  the  truth,  even  with  some  austerity,  to 
live  with  some  rigor  of  temperance,  or  some  ex 
tremes  of  generosity,  seems  to  be  an  asceticism 
which  common  good-nature  would  appoint  to  those 


238  ESSAY    VIII. 

who  are  at  ease  and  in  plenty,  in  sign  that  they  feel 
a  brotherhood  with  the  great  multitude  of  suffering 
men.  And  not  only  need  we  breathe  and  exercise 
the  soul  by  assuming  the  penalties  of  abstinence,  of 
debt,  of  solitude,  of  unpopularity,  but  it  behooves 
the  wise  man  to  look  with  a  bold  eye  into  those 
rarer  dangers  which  sometimes  invade  men,  and  to 
familiarize  himself  with  disgusting  forms  of  disease, 
with  sounds  of  execration,  and  the  vision  of  violent 
death. 

Times  of  heroism  are  generally  times  of  terror, 
but  the  day  never  shines  in  which  this  element  may 
not  work.  The  circumstances  of  man,  we  say,  are 
historically  somewhat  better  in  this  country,  and  at 
this  hour,  than  perhaps  ever  before.  More  freedom 
exists  for  culture.  It  will  not  now  run  against  an  axe 
at  the  first  step  out  of  the  beaten  track  of  opinion. 
But  whoso  is  heroic  will  always  find  crises  to  try  his 
edge.  Human  virtue  demands  her  champions  and 
martyrs,  and  the  trial  of  persecution  always  proceeds. 
It  is  but  the  other  day  that  the  brave  Lovejoy  gave 
his  breast  to  the  bullets  of  a  mob,  for  the  rights  of 
free  speech  and  opinion,  and  died  when  it  was  better 
not  to  live. 

I  see  not  any  road  of  perfect  peace  which  a  man 
can  walk,  but  after  the  counsel  of  his  own  bosom. 
Let  him  quit  too  much  association,  let  him  go  home 
much,  and  stablish  himself  in  those  courses  he  ap- 


HEROISM.  239 

proves.  The  unremitting  retention  of  simple  and 
high  sentiments  in  obscure  duties  is  hardening  the 
character  to  that  temper  which  will  work  with  honor, 
if  need  be,  in  the  tumult,  or  on  the  scaffold.  What 
ever  outrages  have  happened  to  men  may  befall  a 
man  again  ;  and  very  easily  in  a  republic,  if  there 
appear  any  signs  of  a  decay  of  religion.  Coarse 
slander,  fire,  tar  and  feathers,  and  the  gibbet,  the 
youth  may  freely  bring  home  to  his  mind,  and  with 
what  sweetness  of  temper  he  can,  and  inquire  how 
fast  he  can  fix  his  sense  of  duty,  braving  such  penal 
ties,  whenever  it  may  please  the  next  newspaper  and 
a  sufficient  number  of  his  neighbours  to  pronounce 
his  opinions  incendiary. 

It  may  calm  the  apprehension  of  calamity  in  the 
most  susceptible  heart  to  see  how  quick  a  bound  na 
ture  has  set  to  the  utmost  infliction  of  malice.  We 
rapidly  approach  a  brink  over  which  no  enemy  can 
follow  us. 

"  Let  them  rave : 
Thou  art  quiet  in  thy  grave." 

In  the  gloom  of  our  ignorance  of  what  shall  be,  in 
the  hour  when  we  are  deaf  to  the  higher  voices,  who 
does  not  envy  those  who  have  seen  safely  to  an  end 
their  manful  endeavour  ?  Who  that  sees  the  mean 
ness  of  our  politics,  but  inly  congratulates  Washing 
ton  that  he  is  long  already  wrapped  in  his  shroud, 
and  for  ever  safe  ;  that  he  was  laid  sweet  in  his 


240  ESSAY    VIII. 

grave,  the  hope  of  humanity  not  yet  subjugated  in 
him  ?  Who  does  not  sometimes  envy  the  good  and 
brave,  who  are  no  more  to  suffer  from  the  tumults 
of  the  natural  world,  and  await  with  curious  compla 
cency  the  speedy  term  of  his  own  conversation  with 
finite  nature  ?  And  yet  the  love  that  will  be  annihi 
lated  sooner  than  treacherous  has  already  made 
death  impossible,  and  affirms  itself  no  mortal,  but 
a  native  of  the  deeps  of  absolute  and  inextinguish 
able  being. 


THE    OVER-SOUL. 


"  But  souls  that  of  his  own  goodjifejgartake,  ~- 
He  loves  as  his  own  self;  dear  as  his  eye 
They  are  to  Him  :  He  '11  never  them  forsake  : 
When  they  shall  die,  then  God  himself  shall  die 
They  live,  they  live  in  blest  eternity." 

Henry  More. 


Space  is  ample,  east  and  west, 

But  two  cannot  go  abreast, 

Cannot  travel  in  it  two : 

Yonder  masterful  cuckoo 

Crowds  every  egg  out  of  the  nest, 

Quick  or  dead,  except  its  own ; 

A  spell  is  laid  on  sod  and  stone, 

Night  and  Day  've  been  tampered  with, 

Every  quality  and  pith 

Surcharged  and  sultry  with  a  power 

That  works  its  will  on  age  and  hour. 


16 


ESSAY  IX. 
THE     OVER-SOUL 


THERE  is  a  difference  between  one  and  another 
hour  of  life,  in  their  authority  and  subsequent  effect. 
Our  faith  comes  in  moments  ;  our  vice  is  habitual. 
Yet  there  is  a  depth  in  those  brief  moments  which 
constrains  us  to  ascribe  more  reality  to  them  than  to 
all  other  experiences.  For  this  reason,  the  argument 
which  is  always  forthcoming  to  silence  those  who 
conceive  extraordinary  hopes  of  man,  namely,  the 
appeal  to  experience,  is  for  ever  invalid  and  vain. 
We  give  up  the  past  to  the  objector,  and  yet  we 
hope.  He  must  explain  this  hope.  We  grant  that 
human  life  is  mean  ;  but  how  did  we  find  out  that  it 
was  mean  ?  What  is  the  ground  of  this  uneasiness 
of  ours  ;  of  this  old  discontent  ?  What  is  the  uni 
versal  sense  of  want  and  ignorance,  but  the  fine  inu- 
endo  by  which  the  soul  makes  its  enormous  claim  ?j 
Why  do  men  feel  that  the  natural  history  of  man  has 
never  been  written,  but  he  is  always  leaving  behind 
what  you  have  said  of  him,  and  it  becomes  old,  and 


244  ESSAY    IX. 

books  of  metaphysics  worthless  ?  The  philosophy 
of  six  thousand  years  has  not  searched  the  chambers 
and  magazines  of  the  soul.  In  its  experiments  there 
has  always  remained,  in  the  last  analysis,  a  residuum 
it  could  not  resolve.  (Man  is  a  stream  whose  source 
is  hidden.  Our  being  is  descending  into  us  from  we 
know  not  whence.  The  most  exact  calculator  has 
no  prescience  that  somewhat  incalculable  may  not 
balk  the  very  next  moment.  I  am  constrained  every 
moment  to  acknowledge  a  higher  origin  for  events  than 
the  will  I  call  mine. 

As  with  events,  so  is  it  with  thoughts.  When 
I  watch  that  flowing  river,  which,  out  of  regions 
I  see  not,  pours  for  a  season  its  streams  into  me, 
I  see  that  I  am  a  pensioner  ;  not  a  cause,  but  a 
surprised  spectator  of  this  ethereal  water  ;  that  I 
desire  and  look  up,  and  put  myself  in  the  atti 
tude  of  reception,  but  from  some  alien  energy  the 
visions  come. 

The  Supreme  Critic  on  the  errors  of  the  past  and 
the  present,  and  the  only  prophet  of  that  which  must 
be,  is  that  great  nature  in  which  we  rest,  as  the  earth 
lies  in  the  soft  arms  of  the  atmosphere  ;  that  Unity, 
that  Over-soul,  within  ..which  every  man's  particular 
being  is  contained  and  made  one  with  all  other  ;  that 
common  heart,  of  which  all  sincere  conversation  is 
the  worship,  to  which  all  right  action  is  submission  ; 
that  overpowering  reality  which  confutes  our  tricks 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  245 

and  talents,  and  constrains  every  one  to  pass  for  what 
he  is,  and  to  speak  from  his  character,  and  not  from 
his  tongue,  and  which  evermore  tends  to  pass  into 
our  thought  and  hand,  and  become  wisdom,  and  vir 
tue,  and  power,  and  beauty.  We  live  in  succession, 
in  division,  in  parts,  in  particles.  Meantime  within 
man  is  the  soul  of  the  whole  ;  the  wise  silence  ;  the 
universal  beauty,  to  which  every  part  and  particle  is 
equally  related  ;  the  eternal  ONE.  And  this  deep 
power  in  which  we  exist,  and  whose  beatitude  is  all 
accessible  to  us,  is  not  only  self-sufficing  and  perfect 
in  every  hour,  but  the  act  of  seeing  and  the  thing 
seen,  the  seer  and  the  spectacle,  the  subject  and  the 
object,  are  one.  We  see  the  world  piece  by  piece, 
as  the  sun,  the  moon,  the  animal,  the  tree  ;  but  the 
whole,  of  which  these  are  the  shining  parts,  isjthe_, 
_soul.  Only  by  the  vision  of  that  Wisdom  can  the 
horoscope  of  the  ages  be  read,  and  by  falling  back 
on  our  better  thoughts,  by  yielding  to  the  spirit  of 
prophecy  which  is  innate  in  every  man,  we  can  know 
what  it  saith.  Every  man's  words,  who  speaks  from 
that  life,  must  sound  vain  to  those  who  do  not  dwell 
in  the  same  thought  on  their  own  part.  I  dare  not 
speak  for  it.  My  words  dp  not  carry  its  august 
sense  ;  they  fall  short  and  cold.  Only  itself  can  in 
spire  whom  it  will,  and  behold  !  their  speech  shall 
be  lyrical,  and  sweet,  and  universal  as  the  rising  of 
the  wind.  Yet  I  desire,  even  by  profane  words,  if 


246  ESSAY   IX. 

I  may  not  use  sacred,  to  indicate  the  heaven  of  this 
deity,  and  to  report  what  hints  I  have  collected  of 
the  transcendent  simplicity  and  energy  of  the  Highest 
Law. 

If  we  consider  what  happens  in  conversation,  in 

>  reveries,  in  remorse,  in  times  of  passion,  in  surprises, 
in  the  instructions  of  dreams,  wherein  often  we  see 
ourselves  in  masquerade,  —  the  droll  disguises  only 
magnifying  and  enhancing  a  real  element,  and  forcing 
it  on  our  distinct  notice,  —  we  shall  catch  many  hints 

I  that  will  broaden  a»d  lighten  into  knowledge  of  the 
secret  of  nature.  |f  All  goes  to  show  that  the 


man  is  not  an  organ,  but  animates  and  exercises  all 
the  organs  ;  is  not  a  function,  like  the  power  of  mem 
ory,  of  calculation,  of  comparison,  but  uses^jhese 
as  hands  and  feet  ;  is  not  a  faculty,  but  a  light;  is 
not  the  intellect  or  the  will,  but  the  master  of  the  in 
tellect  and  the  will  ;  is  the  background  of  our  Jse- 
ing,  in  which  they  lie,  —  an  immensity  not  possessed 
and  that  cannot  be  possessed.  J^From  within  or  from 
behind,  a  light  shines  through  us  upon  things,  and; 
makes  us  aware*  thaT  we  are  nothing,  but  the  light  is 
all.  A  man  is  the  facade  of  a  temple  wherein  all- 
wisdom  and  all  good  abide.  What  we  commonly 
call  man,  the  eating,  drinking,  planting,  counting' 
man,  does  not,  as  we  know  him,  represent  himself, 
but  misrepresents  himself.  Him  we  do  not  respect,  |; 
but  the  soul,  whose  organ  he  is,  would  he  let  it  ap-1 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  247 

pear  through  his  action,  would  make  our  knees  bend. 
When  it  breathes  through  his  intellect,  it  is  genius  ; 
when  it  breathes  through  his  will,  it  is  virtue  :  when 
it  flows  through  his  affection,  it  is  love.  And  th 
blindness  of  the  intellect  begins,  when  it  would  be 
something  of  itself.  The  weakness  of  the  will  be 
gins,  when  the  individual  would  be  something  of  him 
self.  All  reform  aims,  in  some  one  particular,  to  let 
the  soul  have  its  way  through  us  ;  in  other  words, 
to  engage  us  to  obey. 

Of  this  pure  nature  every  man  is  at  some  time  sen 
sible.  Language  cannot  paint  it  with  his  colors.  It 
is  too  subtile.  It  is  undefinable,  unmeasurable,  but 
we  know  that  it  pervades  and  contains  us.  We  know 
that  all  spiritual  beingjs  jn_man.  A  wise  old  prov 
erb  says,  "  God  comes  to  see  us  without  bell"; 
that  is,  as  there  is  no  screen  or  ceiling  between  our 
heads  and  the  infinite  heavens,  so  is  there  no  bar  or 
wall  in  the  soul  where  man,  the  effect,  ceases,  and 
God,  the  cause,  begins.  The  walls  are  taken  away. 
We  lie  open  on  one  side  to  the  deeps  of  spiritual  na 
ture,  to  the  attributes  of  God.  Justice  we  see  and 
know,  Love,  Freedom,  Power.  These  natures  no 
ma\i  ever  got  above,  but  they  tower  over  us,  and 
most  in  the  moment  when  our  interests  tempt  us  to 
wound  them. 

The  sovereignty  of  this  nature  whereof  we  speak 
is  made  known  by  its  independency  of  those  limita- 


248  ESSAY    IX. 

tions  which  circumscribe  us  on  every  hand.  The 
soul  circumscribes  all  things.  As  I  have  said,  it  con 
tradicts  all  experience.  In  like  manner  it  abolishes 
time  andspace.  The  influence  of  the  senses  has, 
in  most  men,  overpowered  the  mind  TO  tli;it  decree, 
that  the  walls  of  time  and  space  have  come  to  look 
real  and  insurmountable  ;  and  to  speak  with  levity  of 
these  limits  is,  in  the  world,  the  sign  of  insanity. 
Yet  time  and  space  are  but  inverse  measures  of  the 
force  of  the  soul.  The  spirit  sports  with  time,  — 

"  Can  crowd  eternity  into  an  hour, 
Or  stretch  an  hour  to  eternity." 

We  are  often  made  to  feel  that  there  is  another 
youth  and  age  than  that  which  is  measured  from  the 
year  of  our  natural  birth.  Some  thoughts  always 
find  us  young,  and  keep  us  so.  Such  a  thought  is 
the  love  of  the  universal  and  eternal  beauty.  Every 
man  parts  from  that  contemplation  with  the  feeling 
that  it  rather  belongs  to  ages  than  to  mortal  life. 
The  least  activity  of  the  intellectual  powers  redeems 
us  in  a  degree  from  the  conditions  of  time.  In  sick 
ness,  in  languor,  give  us  a  strain  of  poetry,  or  a  pro 
found  sentence,  and  we  are  refreshed  ;  or  produce  a 
volume  of  Plato,  or  Shakspeare,  or  remind  us  of  their 
names,  and  instantly  we  come  into  a  feeling  of  lon 
gevity.  See  how  the  deep,  divine  thought  reduces 
centuries,  and  millenniums,  and  makes  itself  present 
through  all  ages.  Is  the  teaching  of  Christ  less  ef- 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  249 

fective  now  than  it  was  when  first  his  mouth  was 
opened  ?  The  emphasis  of  facts  and  persons  in 
my  thought  has  nothing  to  do  with  time.  And  so, 
always,  the  soul's  scale  is  one  ;  the  scale  of  the 
senses. and  the  understanding  is  another.  Before 
the  revelations  of  the  soul,  Time,  Space,  and 
Nature  shrink  away.  In  common  speech,  we  refer 
all  things  to  time,  as  we  habitually  refer  the  immense 
ly  sundered  stars  to  one  concave  sphere.  And  so 
we  say  that  the  Judgment  is  distant  or  near,  that  the 
Millennium  approaches,  that  a  day  of  certain  political, 
moral,  social  reforms  is  at  hand,  and  the  like,  when 
we  mean,  that,  in  the  nature  of  things,  one  of  the  facts 
we  contemplate  is  external  and  fugitive,  and  the 
other  is  permanent  and  connate  with  the  soul.  The 
things  we  now  esteem  fixed  shall,  one  by  one,  de 
tach  themselves,  like  ripe  fruit,  from  our  experience, 
and  fall.  The  wind  shall  blow  them  none  knows 
whither.  The  landscape,  the  figures,  Boston,  Lon 
don,  are  facts  as  fugitive  as  any  institution  past,  or 
any  whiff  of  mist  or  smoke,  and  so  is  society,  and  so 
is  the  world.  The  soul  looketh  steadily  forwards, 
creating  a  world  before  her,  leaving  worlds  behind 
her.  She  has  no  dates,  nor  rites,  nor  persons,  nor 
specialties,  nor  men.  The_soul  knows  only  the  soul ; 
the  web  of  events  is  the  flowing  robe  in  which  she 
is  clothed. 

After  its  own  law  and  not  by  arithmetic  is  the  rate 
of  its  progress  to  be  computed.     The  soul's  ad  van- 


250  ESSAY   IX. 

ces  are  not  made  by  gradation,  such  as  can  be  repre 
sented  by  motion  in  a  straight  line  ;  but  rather  by  as 
cension  of  state,  such  as  can  be  represented  by  met 
amorphosis,  —  from  the  egg  to  the  worm,  from  the 
worm  to  the  fly.  The  growths  of  genius  are  of  a 
certain  total  character,  that  does  not  advance  the 
elect  individual  first  over  John,  then  Adam,  then 
Richard,  and  give  to  each  the  pain  of  discovered  in 
feriority,  but  by  every  throe  of  growth  the  man  ex 
pands  there  where  he  works,  passing,  at  each  pulsa 
tion,  classes,  populations,  of  men.  With  each  divine 
impulse  the  mind  rends  the  thin  rinds  of  the  visible 
and  finite,  and  comes  out  into  eternity,  and  inspires 
and  expires  its  air.  It  converses  with  truths  that 
have  always  been  spoken  in  the  world,  and  becomes 
conscious  of  a  closer  sympathy  with  Zeno  and  Arri- 
an,  than  with  persons  in  the  house. 

This  is  the  law  of  moral  and  of  mental  gain.  The 
simple  rise  as  by  specific  levity,  not  into  a  particular 
virtue,  but  into  the  region  of  all  the  virtues.  They 
are  in  the  spirit  which  contains  them  all.  The  soul 
requires  purity,  but  purity  is  not  it  ;  requires  justice, 
but  justice  is  not  that ;  requires  beneficence,  but  is 
somewhat  better  ;  so  that  there  is  a  kind  of  descent 
and  accommodation  felt  when  we  leave  speaking  of 
moral  nature,  to  urge  a  virtue  which  it  enjoins.  To 
the  well-born  child,  all  the  virtues  are  natural,  and 
not  painfully  acquired.  Speak  to  his  heart,  and  the 
man  becomes  suddenly  virtuous. 


THE    OVER-SOUL. 


251 


Within  the  same  sentiment  is  the  germ  of  intel 
lectual  growth,  which  obeys  the  same  law.  Those 
who  are  capable  of  humility^  of  justice,  of  love,  of 
aspiration,  stand  already  on  a  platform  that  com 
mands  the  sciences  and  arts,  speech  and  poetry,  ac 
tion  and  grace.  For  whoso  dwells  in  this  moral 
beatitude  already  anticipates  those  special  powers 
which  men  prize  so  highly.  The  lover  has  no  talent, 
no  skill,  which  passes  for  quite  nothing  with  his  en 
amoured  maiden,  however  little  she  may  possess  of 
related  faculty  ;  and  the  heart  which  abandons  itself 
to  the  Supreme  Mind  finds  itself  related  to  all  its 
works,  and  will  travel  a  royal  road  to  particular 
knowledges  and  powers.  In  ascending  to  this  prima 
ry  and  aboriginal  sentiment,  we  have  come  from  our 
remote  station  on  the  circumference  instantaneously 
to  the  centre  of  the  world,  where,  as  in  the  closet  of 
God,  we  see  causes,  arid  anticipate  the  universe, 
which  is  but  a  slow  effect. 

/  One  mode  of  the  divine  teaching  is  the  incarna 
tion  of  the  spirit  in  a  form,  — in  forms,  like  my  own. 
I  live  in  society ;  with  persons  who  answer  to 
thoughts  in  my  own  mind,  or  express  a  certain  obedi 
ence  to  the  great  instincts  to  which  I  live.  I  see  its 
presence  to  them.  I  am  certified  of  a  common  na 
ture  ;  and  these  other  souls,  these  separated  selves, 
draw  me  as  nothing  else  can.^  They  stir  in  me  the 
new  emotions  we  call  passion  ;  of  love,  hatred,  fear, 


252  ESSAY    IX. 


admiration,  pity  ;  thence  comes  conversation,  com 
petition,  persuasion,  cities,  and   war. 
•\£U£p]eme^ 

In  youth  we  are  mad  for  persons.  Childhood  and 
youth  see  all  the  world  in  them.  But  the  larger  ex 
perience  of  man  discovers  the  identical  nature  ap 
pearing  through  them  all.  Persons  themselves  ac 
quaint  us  with  the  impersonal.  In  all  conversation 
between  two  persons,  tacit  reference  is  made,  as  to  a 
third  party,  to  a  common  nature.  That  third  party 
or  common  nature  is  not  social ;  it  is  impersonal ;  is 
God.  And  so  in  groups  where  debate  is  earnest, 
and  especially  on  high  questions,  the  company  be 
come  aware  that  the  thought  rises  to  an  equal  level 
in  all  bosoms,  that  all  have  a  spiritual  property  in 
what  was  said,  as  well  as  the  sayer.  They  all  be 
come  wiser  than  they  were.  It  arches  over  them 
like  a  temple,  this  unity  of  thought,  in  which  every 
heart  beats  with  nobler  sense  of  power  and  duty, 
and  thinks  and  acts  with  unusual  solemnity.  All 
are  conscious  of  attaining  to  a  higher  self-posses 
sion.  It  shines  for  all.  There  is  a  certain  wis 
dom  of  humanity  which  is  common  to  the  greatest 
men  with  the  lowest,  and  which  our  ordinary  ed 
ucation  often  labors  to  silence  and  obstruct.  The 
mind  is  one,  and  the  best  minds,  who  love  truth  for 
its  own  sake,  think  much  less  of  property  in  truth. 
They  accept  it  thankfully  everywhere,  and  do  not 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  253 

label  or  stamp  it  with  any  man's  name,  for  it  is  theirs 
long  beforehand,  and  from  eternity.  The  learned  and 
the  studious  of  thought  have  no  monopoly  of  wisdom. 
Their  violence  of  direction  in  some  degree  disquali 
fies  them  to  think  truly.  We  owe  many  valuablp 
observations  to  people  who  are  not  very  acute  or  pro 
found,  and  who  say  the  thing  without  effort,  which 
we  want  and  have  long  been  hunting  in  vain.  The 
action  of  the  soul  is  oftener  in  that  which  is  felt  and 
left  unsaid,  than  in  that  which  is  said  in  any  conver 
sation.  It  broods  over  every  society,  and  they  un 
consciously  seek  for  it  in  each  other.  We  know 
better  than  we  do.  We  do  not  yet  possess  ourselves, 
and  we  know  at  the  same  time  that  we  are  much 
more.  I  feel  the  same  truth  how  often  in  my  trivial 
conversation  with  my  neighbours,  that  somewhat 
higher  in  each  of  us  overlooks  this  by-play,  and  Jove 
nods  to  Jove  from  behind  each  of  us. 

Men  descend  to  meet.  In  their  habitual  and  mean 
service  to  the  world,  for  which  they  forsake  their 
native  nobleness,  they  resemble  these  Arabian 
sheiks,  who  dwell  in  mean  houses,  and  affect  an 
external  poverty,  to  escape  the  rapacity  of  the  Pa 
cha,  and  reserve  all  their  display  of  wealth  for  their 
interior  and  guarded  retirements. 

As  it  is  present  in  all  persons,  so  it  is  in  every  pe 
riod  of  life.  It  is  adult  already  in  the  infant  man. 
In  my  dealing  with  my  child,  my  Latin  and  Greek, 


254  ESSAY    IX. 

my  accomplishments  and  my  money  stead  me  noth 
ing  ;  but  as  much  soul  as  I  have  avails.  If  I  am  wilful, 
he  sets  his  will  against  mine,  one  for  one,  and  leaves 
me,  if  I  please,  the_degradation  of  beating  him  by 
my  superiority  of  strength.  But  if  I  renounce  my 
will,  and  act  for  the  soul,  setting  that  up  as  umpire 
between  us  two,  out  of  his  young  eyes  looks  the  same 
soul ;  he  reveres  and  loves  with  me. 

The  soul  is  the  perceiver  and  revealer  of  truth. 
We  know  truth  when  we  see  it,  let  skeptic  and  scof 
fer  say  what  they  choose.  Foolish  people  ask  you, 
when  you  have  spoken  what  they  do  not  wish  to 
hear,  c  How  do  you  know  it  is  truth,  and  not  an  er 
ror  of  your  own  ? '  We  know  truth  when  we  see 
it,  from  opinion,  as  we  know 'when  we  are  awake 
that  we  are  awake.  It  was  a  grand  sentence  of 
Emanuel  Swedenborg,  which  would  alone  indicate 
the  greatness  of  that  man's  perception, —  "  It  is  no 
proof  of  a  man's  understanding  to  be  able  to  confirm 
whatever  he  pleases  ;  but  to  be  able  to  discern  that 
what  is  true  is  true,  and  that  what  is  false  is  false, 
this  is  the  mark  and  character  of  intelligence."  In 
the  book  I  read,  the  good  thought  returns  to  me,  as 
every  truth  will,  the  image  of  the  whole  soul.  To 
the  bad  thought  which  I  find  in  it,  the  same  soul  be 
comes  a  discerning,  separating  sword,  and  lops  it 
away.  We  are  wiser  than  we  know.  If  we  will 
not  interfere  with  our  thought,  but  will  act  entirely, 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  255 

or  see  how  the  thing  stands  in  God,  we  know  the 
particular  thing,  and  every  thing,  and  every  man. 
For  the  Maker  of  all  things  and  all  persons  stands 
behind  us,  and  casts  his  dread  omniscience  through 
us  over  things. 

But  beyond  this  recognition  of  its  own  in  particu 
lar  passages  of  the  individual's  experience,  it  also  re 
veals  truth.  And  here  we  should  seek  to  reinforce 
ourselves  by  its  very  presence,  and  to  speak  with  a 
worthier,  loftier  strain  of  that  advent.  For  the  soul's 
communicationjpfjruth  is  the  highest  event  in  nature, 
since  it  then  does  not  give  somewhat  from  itself,  but 
it  gives  itself,  or  passes  into  and  becomes  that  man 
whom  it  enlightens  ;  or,  in  proportion  to  that  truth  he 
receives,  it  takes  him  to  itself. 

We  distinguish  the  announcements  of  the  soul,  its 
manifestations  of  its  own  nature,  by  the  term  Reve 
lation.  These  are  always  attended  by  the  emotion 
of  the  sublime.  For  this  communication  is  an  influx 
of  the  Divine  mind  into  our  mind.  It  is  an  ebb  of 
the  individual  rivulet  before  the  flowing  surges  of  the 
sea  of  life.  Every  distinct  apprehension  of  this  cen 
tral  commandment  agitates  men  with  awe  and  delight. 
A  thrill  passes  through  all  men  at  the  reception  of 
new  truth,  or  at  the  performance  of  a  great  action, 
which  comes  out  of  the  heart  of  nature.  In  these 
communications,  the  power  to  see  is  not  separated 
from  the  will  to  do,  but  the  insight  proceeds  from 


256  ESSAY   IX. 

obedience,  and  the  obedience  proceeds  fr'Sm  a  joyful 
perception.  Every  moment  when  the  individual  feels 
himself  invaded  by  it  is  memorable.  By  the  neces 
sity  of  our  constitution,  a  certain  enthusiasm  attends 
the  individual's  consciousness  of  that  divine  pres 
ence.  The  character  and  duration  of  this  enthusi 
asm  varies  with  the  state  of  the  individual,  from  an 
ecstasy  and  trance  and  prophetic  inspiration, — which 
is  its  rarer  appearance, —to  the  faintest  glow  of  virtu 
ous  emotion,  in  which  form  it  warms,  like  our  house 
hold  fires,  all  the  families  and  associations  of  men, 
and  makes  society  possible.  A  certain  tendency  to 
insanity  has  always  attended  the  opening  of  the  re 
ligious  sense  in  men,  as  if  they  had  been  ''blasted 
with  excess  of  light."  The  trances  of  Socrates, 
the  u  union"  of  Plotinus,  the  vision  of  Porphyry, 
the  conversion  of  Paul,  the  aurora  of  Behmen,  the 
convulsions  of  George  Fox  and  his  Quakers,  the  il 
lumination  of  Swedenborg,  are  of  this  kind.  What 
was  in  the  case  of  these  remarkable  persons  a  ravish 
ment  has,  in  innumerable  instances  in  common  life, 
been  exhibited  in  less  striking  manner.  Everywhere 
the  history  of  religion  betrays  a  tendency  to  enthusi 
asm.  The  rapture  of  the  Moravian  and  Quietist ; 
the  opening  of  the  internal  sense  of  the  Word,  in  the 
language  of  the  New  Jerusalem  Church  ;  the  revival 
of  the  Calvinistic  churches  ;  the  experiences  of  the 
Methodists,  are  varying  forms  of  that  shudder  of  awe 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  257 

and  delight  with  which  the  individual  soul  always 
mingles  with  the  universal  soul. 

The  nature  of  these  revelations  is  the  same  ;  they 
are  perceptions  of  the  absolute  law.  They  are  solu 
tions  of  the  soul's  own  questions.  They  do  not  an 
swer  the  questions  which  the  understanding  asks. 
The  soul  answers  never  by  words,  but  by  the  thing 
itself  that  is  inquired  after. 

Revelation  is  the  disclosure  of  the  soul.  The 
popular  notion  of  a  revelation  is,  that  it  is  a  telling 
of  fortunes.  In  past  oracles  of  the  soul,  the  under 
standing  seeks  to  find  answers  to  sensual  questions, 
and  undertakes  to  tell  from  God  how  long  men  shall 
exist,  what  their  hands  shall  do,  and  who  shall  be 
their  company,  adding  names,  and  dates,  and  places. 
But  we  must  pick  no  locks.  We  must  check  this 
low  curiosity.  An  answer  in  words  is  delusive  ;  it 
is  really  no  answer  to  the  questions  you  ask.  Do 
not  require  a  description  of  the  countries  towards 
which  you  sail.  The  description  does  not  describe 
them  to  you,  and  to-morrow  you  arrive  there,  and 
know  them  by  inhabiting  them.  Men  ask  concerning 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  the  employments  of  heav 
en,  the  state  of  the  sinner,  and  so  forth.  They  even 
dream  that  Jesus  has  left  replies  to  precisely  these 
interrogatories.  Never  a  moment  did  that  sublime 
spirit  speak  in  their  patois.  To  truth,  justice,  love, 
the  attributes  of  the  soul,  the  idea  of  immutableness 
17 


258  ESSAY    IX. 

is  essentially  associated.  Jesus,  living  in  these  mor 
al  sentiments,  heedless  of  sensual  fortunes,  heeding 
only  the  manifestations  of  these,  never  made  the  sep 
aration  of  the  idea  of  duration  from  the  essence  of 
these  attributes,  nor  uttered  a  syllable  concerning  the 
duration  of  the  soul.  It  was  left  to  his  disciples 
to  sever  duration  from  the  moral  elements,  and  to 
teach  the  immortality  of  the  soul  as  a  doctrine,  and 
maintain  it  by  evidences.  The  moment  the  doc 
trine  of  the  immortality  is  separately  taught,  man  is 
already  fallen.  In  the  flowing  of  love,  in  the  adora 
tion  of  humility,  there  is  no  question  of  continuance. 
No  inspired  man  ever  asks  this  question,  or  conde 
scends  to  these  evidences.  For  the  soul  is  true  to 
itself,  and  the  man  in  whom  it  is  shed  abroad  cannot 
wander  from  the  present,  which  is  infinite,  to  a  future 
which  would  be  finite. 

These  questions  which  we  lust  to  ask  about  the 
future  are  a  confession  of  sin.  God  has  no  answer 
for  them.  No  answer  in  words  can  reply  to  a  ques 
tion  of  things.  It  is  not  in  an  arbitrary  "  decree  of 
God,"  but  in  the  nature  of  man,  that  a  veil  shuts 
down  on  the  facts  of  to-morrow  ;  for  the  soul  will 
not  have  us  read  any  other  cipher  than  that  of  cause 
and  effect.  By  this  veil,  which  curtains  events,  it 
instructs  the  children  of  men  to  live  in  to-day.  The 
only  mode  of  obtaining  an  answer  to  these  questions  of 
the  senses  is  to  forego  all  low  curiosity,  and,  accept- 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  259 

ing  the  tide  of  being  which  floats  us  into  the  secret 
of  nature,  work  and  live,  work  and  live,  and  all  un 
awares  the  advancing  soul  has  built  and  forged  for  it 
self  a  new  condition,  and  the  question  and  the  answer 
are  one. 

By  the  same  fire,  vital,  consecrating,  celestial, 
which  burns  until  it  shall  dissolve  all  things  into 
the  waves  and  surges  of  an  ocean  of  light,  we  see 
and  know  each  other,  and  what  spirit  each  is  of. 
Who  can  tell  the  grounds  of  his  knowledge  of  the 
character  of  the  several  individuals  in  his  circle  of 
friends  ?  No  man.  Yet  their  acts  and  words  do 
not  disappoint  him.  In  that  man,  though  he  knew 
no  ill  of  him,  he  put  no  trust.  In  that  other, 
though  they  had  seldom  met,  authentic  signs  had 
yet  passed,  to  signify  that  he  might  be  trusted  as 
one  who  had  an  interest  in  his  own  character.  We 
know  each  other  very  well,  —  which  of  us  has  been 
just  to  himself,  and  whether  that  which  we  teach  or 
behold  is  only  an  aspiration,  or  is  our  honest  effort 
also. 

We  are  all  discerners  of  spirits.  That  diagnosis 
lies  aloft  in  our  life  or  unconscious  power.  The  inter 
course  of  society,  —  its  trade,  its  religion,  its  friend 
ships,  its  quarrels,  — is  one  wide,  judicial  investigation 
of  character.  In  full  court,  or  in  small  committee, 
or  confronted  face  to  face,  accuser  and  accused, 
men  offer  themselves  to  be  judged.  Against  their 


260  ESSAY    IX. 

will  they  exhibit  those  decisive  trifles  by  which  char 
acter  is  read.  But  who  judges  ?  and  what  ?  Not 
our  understanding.  We  do  not  read  them  by  learn 
ing  or  craft.  No  ;  the  wisdom  of  the  wise  man  con 
sists  herein,  that  he  does  not  judge  them  ;  he  lets 
them  judge  themselves,  and  merely  reads  and  records 
their  own  verdict. 

By  virtue  of  this  inevitable  nature,  private  will  is 
overpowered,  and,  maugre  our  efforts  or  our  imper 
fections,  your  genius  will  speak  from  you,  and  mine 
from  me.  (Jhat  which  we  are,  we  shall  teach,  not 
voluntarily,  but  involuntarily.  Thoughts  come  into 
our  minds  by  avenues  which  we  never  left  open,  and 
thoughts  go  out  of  our  minds  through  avenues  which 
we  never  voluntarily  opened.  Character  teaches 
over  our  head.  The  infallible  index  of  true  pro 
gress  is  found  in  the  tone  the  man  takes.  Neither 
his  age,  nor  his  breeding,  nor  company,  nor  books, 
nor  actions,  nor  talents,  nor  all  together,  can  hinder 
him  from  being  deferential  to  a  higher  spirit  than  his 
own.  If  he  have  not  found  his  home  in  God,  his 
manners,  his  forms  of  speech,  the  turn  of  his  senten 
ces,  the  build,  shall  I  say,  of  all  his  opinions,  will  in 
voluntarily  confess  it,  let  him  brave  it  out  how  he 
will.  If  he  have  found  his  centre,  the  Deity  will 
shine  through  him,  through  all  the  disguises  of  igno 
rance,  of  ungenial  temperament,  of  unfavorable  cir 
cumstance.  The  tone  of  seeking  is  one,  and  the 
tone  of  having  is  another?! 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  261 

The  great  distinction  between  teachers  sacred  or 
literary, — between  poets  like  Herbert,  and  poets  like 
Pope,  —  between  philosophers  like  Spinoza,  Kant, 
and  Coleridge,  and  philosophers  like  Locke,  Paley, 
Mackintosh,  and  Stewart,  —  between  men  of  the 
world,  who  are  reckoned  accomplished  talkers,  and 
here  and  there  a  fervent  mystic,  prophesying,  half 
insane  under  the  infinitude  of  his  thought,  —  is,  that 
one  class  speak  from  within,  or  from  experience, 
as  parties  and  possessors  of  the  fact  ;  and  the  other 
class,  from  without,  as  spectators  merely,  or  perhaps 
as  acquainted  with  the  fact  on  the  evidence  of  third 
persons.  It  is  of  no  use  to  preach  to  me  from  with 
out.  I  can  do  that  too  easily  myself.  Jesus  speaks 
always  from  within,  and  in  a  degree  that  transcends 
all  others.  In  that  is  the  miracle.  I  believe  before- 
Jiand  that  it  ought  so  to  be.  All  men  stand  continu 
ally  in  the  expectation  of  the  appearance  of  such  a 
teacher.  But  if  a  man  do  not  speak  from  within 
die  veil,  where  the  word  is  one  with  that  it  tells  of, 
let  him  lowly  confess  it. 

The  same  Omniscience  flows  into  the  intellect, 
and  makes  what  we  call  genius.  Much  of  the  wis 
dom  of  the  world  is  not  wisdom,  and  the  most  illu 
minated  class  of  men  are  no  doubt  superior  to  litera 
ry  fame,  and  are  not  writers.  Among  the  multitude 
of  scholars  and  authors,  we  feel  no  hallowing  pres 
ence  ;  we  are  sensible  of  a  knack  and  skill  rather 


262  ESSAY    IX. 

than  of  inspiration  ;  they  have  a  light,  and  know  not 
whence  it  comes,  and  call  it  their  own  ;  their  talent 
is  some  exaggerated  faculty,  some  overgrown  mem 
ber,  so  that  their  strength  is  a  disease.  In  these  in 
stances  the  intellectual  gifts  do  not  make  the  impres 
sion  of  virtue,  but  almost  of  vice  ;  and  we  feel  that 
a  man's  talents  stand  in  the  way  of  his  advancement 
in  truth.  But  genius  is  religious.  It  is  a  larger  im 
bibing  of  the  common  heart.  It  is  not  anomalous, 
but  more  like,  and  not  less  like  other  men.  There 
is,  in  all  great  poets,  a  wisdom  of  humanity  which  is 
superior  to  any  talents  they  exercise.  The  author, 
the  wit,  the  partisan,  the  fine  gentleman,  does  not 
take  place  of  the  man.  Humanity  shines  in  Homer, 
in  Chaucer,  in  Spenser,  in  Shakspeare,  in  Milton. 
They  are  content  with  truth.  They  use  the  positive 
degree.  They  seem  frigid  and  phlegmatic  to  those 
who  have  been  spiced  with  the  frantic  passion  and 
violent  coloring  of  inferior,  but  popular  writers. 
For  they  are  poets  by  the  free  course  which  they 
allow  to  the  informing  soul,  which  through  their 
eyes  beholds  again,  and  blesses  the  things  which 
it  hath  made.  The  soul  is  superior  to  its  knowl 
edge  ;  wiser  than  any  of  its  works.  The  great 
poet  makes  us  feel  our  own  wealth,  and  then  we 
think  less  of  his  compositions.  His  best  commu 
nication  to  our  mind  is  to  teach  us  to  despise  all 
he  has  done.  Shakspeare  carries  us  to  such  a  lofty 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  263 

strain  of  intelligent  activity,  as  to  suggest  a  wealth 
which  beggars  his  own  ;  and  we  then  feel  that  the 
splendid  works  which  he  has  created,  and  which  in 
other  hours  we  extol  as  a  sort  of  self-existent  poet 
ry,  take  no  stronger  hold  of  real  nature  than  the 
shadow  of  a  passing  traveller  on  the  rock.  The  in 
spiration  which  uttered  itself  in  Hamlet  and  Lear 
could  utter  things  as  good  from  day  to  day,  for  ever. 
Why,  then,  should  I  make  account  of  Hamlet  and 
Lear,  as  if  we  had  not  the  soul  from  which  they  fell 
as  syllables  from  the  tongue  ? 

This  energy  does  not  descend  into  individual  life 
on  any  other  condition  than  entire  possession.  It 
comes  to  the  lowly  and  simple  ;  it  comes  to  whom 
soever  will  put  off  what  is  foreign  and  proud  ;  it 
comes  as  insight  ;  it  comes  as  serenity  and  grandeur. 
When  we  see  those  whom  it  inhabits,  we  are  ap 
prized  of  new  degrees  of  greatness.  From  that  in 
spiration  the  man  comes  back  with  a  changed  tone. 
He  does  not  talk  with  men  with  an  eye  to  their  opin 
ion.  He  tries  them.  It  requires  of  us  to  be  plain 
and  true.  The  vain  traveller  attempts  to  embellish 
his  life  by  quoting  my  lord,  and  the  prince,  and  the 
countess,  who  thus  said  or  did  to  him.  The  ambi 
tious  vulgar  show  you  their  spoons,  and  brooches, 
and  rings,  and  preserve  their  cards  and  compliments. 
The  more  cultivated,  in  their  account  of  their  own 
experience,  cull  out  the  pleasing,  poetic  circum- 


264  ESSAY   IX. 

stance,  —  the  visit  to  Rome,  the  man  of  genius  they 
saw,  the  brilliant  friend  they  know ;  still  further  on, 
perhaps,  the  gorgeous  landscape,  the  mountain  lights, 
the  mountain  thoughts,  they  enjoyed  yesterday, — and 
so  seek  to  throw  a  romantic  color  over  their  life. 
/•  But  the  soul  that  ascends  to  worship  the  great  God 
is  plain  and  true  ;  has  no  rose-color,  no  fine  friends, 
no  chivalry,  no  adventures ;  does  not  want  admira 
tion  ;  dwells  in  the  hour  that  now  is,  in  the  earnest 
experience  of  the  common  day,  —  by  reason  of  the 
present  moment  and  the  mere  trifle  having  be 
come  porous  to  thought,  and  bibulous  of  the  sea 
of  light. 

Converse  with  a  mind  that  is  grandly  simple,  and 
literature  looks  like  word-catching.  The  simplest 
utterances  are  worthiest  to  be  written,  yet  are  they 
so  cheap,  and  so  things  of  course,  that,  in  the  infinite 
riches  of  the  soul,  it  is  like  gathering  a  few  pebbles 
off  the  ground,  or  bottling  a  little  air  in  a  phial, 
when  the  whole  earth  and  the  whole  atmosphere  are 
ours.  Nothing  can  pass  there,  or  make  you  one  of 
the  circle,  but  the  casting  aside  your  trappings,  and 
dealing  man  to  man  in  naked  truth,  plain  confession, 
and  omniscient  affirmation. 

Souls  such  as  these  treat  you  as  gods  would  ; 
walk  as  gods  in  the  earth,  accepting  without  any  ad 
miration  your  wit,  your  bounty,  your  virtue  even,  — 
say  rather  your  act  of  duty,  for  your  virtue  they  own 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  265 

as  their  proper  blood,  royal  as  themselves,  and  over- 
royal,  and  the  father  of  the  gods.  But  what  rebuke 
their  plain  fraternal  bearing  casts  on  the  mutual  flattery 
with  which  authors  solace  each  other  and  wound  them 
selves  !  These  flatter  not.  I  do  not  wonder  that  these 
men  go  to  see  Cromwell,  and  Christina,  and  Charles 
the  Second,  and  James  the  First,  and  the  Grand  Turk. 
For  they  are,  in  their  own  elevation,  the  fellows  of 
kings,  and  must  feel  the  servile  tone  of  conversation 
in  the  world.  They  must  always  be  a  godsend  to 
princes,  for  they  confront  them,  a  king  to  a  king, 
without  ducking  or  concession,  and  give  a  high  na 
ture  the  refreshment  and  satisfaction  of  resistance, 
of  plain  humanity,  of  even  companionship,  and  of 
new  ideas.  They  leave  them  wiser  and  superior 
men.  Souls  like  these  make  us  feel  that  sincerity 
is  more  excellent  than  flattery.  Deal  so  plainly  with 
man  arid  woman,  as  to  constrain  the  utmost  sincerity, 
and  destroy  all  hope  of  trifling  with  you.  It  is  the 
highest  compliment  you  can  pay.  Their  u  highest 
praising,"  said  Milton,  "  is  not  flattery,  and  their 
plainest  advice  is  a  kind  of  praising." 

Ineffable  is  the  union  of  man  and  God  in  every 
act  of  the  soul.  The  simplest  person,  who  in  his 
integrity  worships  God,  becomes  God  ;  yet  for  ever 
and  ever  the  influx  of  this  better  and  universal  self 
is  new  and  unsearchable.  It  inspires  awe  and  aston 
ishment.  How  dear,  how  soothing  to  man,  arises 


266  ESSAY    IX. 

the  idea  of  God,  peopling  the  lonely  place,  effacing 
the  scars  of  our  mistakes  and  disappointments  ! 
When  we  have  broken  our  god  of  tradition,  and 
ceased  from  our  god  of  rhetoric,  then  may  jGod 
fire  the  heart  with  his  presence.  It  is  the  doubling 
of  the  heart  itself,  nay,  the  infinite  enlargement  of 
the  heart  with  a  power  of  growth  to  a  new  infinity 
on  every  side.  It  inspires  in  man  an  infallible  trust. 
He  has  not  the  conviction,  but  the  sight,  that  the 
best  is  the  true,  and  may  in  that  thought  easily  dis 
miss  all  particular  uncertainties  and  fears,  and  adjourn 
to  the  sure  revelation  of  time,  the  solution  of  his  pri 
vate  riddles.  He  is  sure  that  his  welfare  is  dear  to 
the  heart  of  being.  In  the  presence  of  law  to  his 
mind,  he  is  overflowed  with  a  reliance  so  universal, 
that  it  sweeps  away  all  cherished  hopes  and  the  most 
stable  projects  of  mortal  condition  in  its  flood.  He 
believes jthat  he  cannot  escape  from  his  good.  The 
thingsTiat— are—really  for  thee  gravitate  to  thee. 
You  are  running  to  seek  your  friend.  Let  your  feet ' 
run,  but  your  mind  need  not.  If  you  do  not  find 
him,  will  you  not  acquiesce  that  it  is  best  you  should 
not  find  him  ?  for  there  is  a  power,  which,  as  it  is  in 
you,  is  in  him  also,  and  could  therefore  very  well 
bring  you  together,  if  it  were  for  the  best.  You  are 
preparing  with  eagerness  to  go  and  render  a  service 
to  which  your  talent  and  your  taste  invite  you,  the 
love  of  men  and  the  hope  of  fame.  Has  it  not  oc- 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  267 

curred  to  you,  that  you  have  no  right  to  go,  unless 
you  are  equally  willing  to  be  prevented  from  go 
ing  ?  O,  believe,  as  thou  livest,  that  every  sound 
that  is  spoken  over  the  round  world,  which  thou 
oughtest  to  hear,  will  vibrate  on  thine  ear  !  Every 
proverb,  every  book,  every  byword  that  belongs  to 
thee  for  aid  or  comfort,  shall  surely  come  home 
through  open  or  winding  passages.  Every  friend 
whom  not  thy  fantastic  will,  but  the  great  and  tender 
heart  in  thee  craveth,  shall  lock  thee  in  his  embrace. 
And  this,  because  the  heart  in  thee  is  the  heart  of 
all ;  not  a  valve,  not  a  wall,  not  an  intersection  is 
there  anywhere  in  nature,  but  one  blood  rolls  unin 
terruptedly  an  endless  circulation  through  all  men, 
as  the  water  of  the  globe  is  all  one  sea,  and,  truly 
seen,  its  tide  is  one. 

.^^iiet  man,  then,  learn  the  revelation  of  all  nature 
and  all  thought  to  his  heart ;  this,  namely  ;  that,  the 
Highest  dwells  whhjiim  ;  that  the  sources  of  nature 
are  in  his  own  mind,  if  the  sentiment  of  duty  is 
there.  But  if  he  would  know  what  the  great  God 
speaketh,  he  must  c  go  into  his  closet  and  shut  the 
door,'  as  Jesus  said.  God  will  not  make  himself 
manifest  to  cowards.  He  must  greatly  listen  to  him 
self,  withdrawing  himself  from  all  the  accents  of  oth 
er  men's  devotion.  Even  their  prayers  are  hurtful 
to  him,  until  he  have  made  his  own.  Our  religion 
vulgarly  stands  on  numbers  of  believers.  Whenever 


268  ESSAY    IX. 

the  appeal  is  made  —  no  matter  how  indirectly  — 
to  numbers,  proclamation  is  then  and  there  made, 
that  religion  is  not.  He  that  finds  God  a  sweet,  en 
veloping  thought  to  him  never  counts  his  company. 
When  I  sit  in  that  presence,  who  shall  dare  to  come 
in  ?  When  I  rest  in  perfect  humility,  when  I  burn 
with  pure  love,  what  can  Calvin  or  Swedenborg 
say  ? 

It  makes  no  difference  whether  the  appeal  is  to 
numbers  or  to  one.  The  faith  that  stands  on  author 
ity  is  not  faith.  The  reliance  on  authority  measures 
the  decline  of  religion,  the  withdrawal  of  the  soul. 
The  position  men  have  given  to  Jesus,  now  for  many 
centuries  of  history,  is  a  position  of  authority.  It 
characterizes  themselves.  It  cannot  alter  the  eternal 
facts.  Great  is  the  soul,  and  plain.  It  is  no  flat 
terer,  it  is  no  follower  ;  it  never  appeals  from  itself. 
It  believes  in  itself.  Before  the  immense  possibili 
ties  of  man,  all  mere  experience,  all  past  biography, 
however  spotless  and  sainted,  shrinks  away.  Before 
that  heaven  which  our  presentiments  foreshow  us,  we 
cannot  easily  praise  any  form  of  life  we  have  seen  or 
read  of.  We  not  only  affirm  that  we  have  few  great 
men,  but,  absolutely  speaking,  that  we  have  none  ; 
that  we  have  no  history,  no  record  of  any  character 
or  mode  of  living,  that  entirely  contents  us.  The 
saints  and  demigods  whom  history  worships  we  are 
constrained  to  accept  with  a  grain  of  allowance. 


THE    OVER-SOUL.  269 

Though  in  our  lonely  hours  we  draw  a  new  strength 
out  of  their  memory,  yet,  pressed  on  our  attention, 
as  they  are  by  the  thoughtless  and  customary,  they 
fatigue  and  invade.  The  soul  gives  itself,  alone, 
original,  and  pure,  to  the  Lonely,  Original,  and 
Pure,  who,  on  that  condition,  gladly  inhabits,  leads, 
and  speaks  through  it.  Then  is  it  glad,  young,  and 
nimble.  It  is  not  wise,  but  it  sees  through  all  things. 
It  is  not  called  religious,  but  it  is  innocent.  It  calls 
the  light  its  own,  and  feels  that  the  grass  grows  and 
the  stone  falls  by  a  law  inferior  to,  and  dependent  on, 
its  nature.  Behold,  it  saith,  I  am  born  into  the 
great,  the  universal  mind.  I?  the  imperfect,  adore 
my  own  Perfect.  (  I  am  somehow  receptive  of  the 
great  soul,  and  thereby  I  do  overlook  the  sun  and 
the  stars,  and  feel  them  to  be  the  fair  accidents  and 
effects  which  change  and  pass.  More  and  more  the 
surges  of  everlasting  nature  enter  into  me,  and  I  be 
come  public  and  human  in  my  regards  and  actions. 
So^come  I  to  live  in  thoughts,  and  actwjtlL£iiergies , 
which  are  immortal.  JThus  revering  the  soul,  and 
Tearnmg7  as  tEe~ ancient  said,  that  "  its  beauty  is  im 
mense,"  man  will  come  to  see  that  the  world  is  the 
perennial  miracle  which  the  soul  worketh,  and  be  less 
astonished  at  particular  wonders  ;  he  will  learn  that 
there  is  no  profane  history  ;  that  all  history  is  sacred  ; 
that  the  universe  is  represented  in  an  atom,  in  a  mo 
ment  of  time.  He  will  weave  no  longer  a  spotted 


270  ESSAY    IX. 

life  of  shreds  and  patches,  but  he  will  live  with  a  di 
vine  unity.  He  will  cease  from  what  is  base  and 
frivolous  in  his  life,  and  be  content  with  all  places 
and  with  any  service  he  can  render.  He  will  calmly 
front  the  morrow  in  the  negligency  of  that  trust  which 
carries  God  with  it,  and  so  hath  already  the  whole 
future  in  the  bottom  of  the  heart. 


CIRCLES. 


Nature  centres  into  balls, 
And  her  proud  ephemeral^, 
Fast  to  surface  and  outside, 
Scan  the  profile  of  the  sphere; 
Knew  they  what  that  signified, 
A  new  genesis  were  here. 


ESSAY    X. 
CIRCLES. 


I  THE  eye  is  the  first  circle  ;  the  horizon  which  it 
forms  is  the  second  ;  and  throughout  nature  this  pri 
mary  figure  is  repeated  without  end.  It  is  the  highest 
emblem  in  the  cipher  of  the  world.  St.  Augustine 
described  the  nature  of  God  as  a  circle  whose  centre 
was  everywhere,  and  its  circumference  nowhere.  We 
are  all  our  lifetime  reading  the  copious  sense  of  this 
first  of  forms.  One  moral  we  have  already  deduced, 
in  considering  the  circular  or  compensatory  character 
of  every  human  action.  Another  analogy  we  shall 
now  trace  ;  that  every  action  admits  of  being  out 
done.  Our  life  is  an  apprenticeship  to  the  truth, 
that  around  every  circle  another  can  be  drawn  ;  that 
there  is  no  end  in  nature,  but  every  end  is  a  begin 
ning  ;  that  there  is  always  another  dawn  risen  on 
mid-noon,  and  tinder  every  deep  a  lower  deep 
opens. 

This  fact,  as  far  as  it  symbolizes  the  moral  fact 
18 


274  ESSAY   X. 

of  the  Unattainable,  the  flying  Perfect,  around  which 
the  hands  of  man  can  never  meet,  at  once  the  in- 
spirer  and  the  condemner  of  every  success,  may  con 
veniently  serve  us  to  connect  many  illustrations  of 
human  power  in  every  department. 

There  are  no  fixtures  in  nature.  The  universe  is 
fluid  and  volatile.  Permanence  is  but  a  word  of  de 
grees.  Our  globe  seen  by  God  is  a  transparent  law, 
not  a  mass  of  facts.  The  law  dissolves  the  fact  and 
holds  it  fluid.  Our  culture  is  the  predominance  of 
an  idea  which  draws  after  it  this  train  of  cities  and 
institutions.  Let  us  rise  into  another  idea  :  they  will 
disappear.  The  Greek  sculpture  is  all  melted  away, 
as  if  it  had  been  statues  of  ice  ;  here  and  there  a 
solitary  figure  or  fragment  remaining,  as  we  see 
flecks  and  scraps  of  snow  left  in  cold  dells  and 
mountain  clefts,  in  June  and  July.  For  the  genius 
that  created  it  creates  now  somewhat  else.  The 
Greek  letters  last  a  little  longer,  but  are  already  pass 
ing  under  the  same  sentence,  and  tumbling  into  the 
inevitable  pit  which  the  creation  of  new  thought 
opens  for  all  that  is  old.  The  new  continents  are 
built  out  of  the  ruins  of  an  old  planet  ;  the  new 
races  fed  out  of  the  decomposition  of  the  foregoing. 
New  arts  destroy  the  old.  See  the  investment  of 
capital  in  aqueducts  made  useless  by  hydraulics  ; 
fortifications,  by  gunpowder  ;  roads  and  canals,  by 
railways  ;  sails,  by  steam  ;  steam  by  electricity. 


CIRCLES.  275 

You  admire  this  tower  of  granite,  weathering  the 
hurts  of  so  many  ages.  Yet  a  little  waving  hand 
built  this  huge  wall,  and  that  which  builds  is  bet 
ter  than  that  which  is  built.  The  hand  that,  built 
can  topple  it  down  much  faster.  Better  than  the 
hand,  and  nimbler,  was  the  invisible  thought  which 
wrought  through  it ;  and  thus  ever,  behind  the  coarse 
effect,  is  a  fine  cause,  which,  being  narrowly  seen, 
is  itself  the  effect  of  a  finer  cause.  Every  thing 
looks  permanent  until  its  secret  is  known.  A  rich 
estate  appears  to  women  a  firm  and  lasting  fact ;  to  a 
merchant,  one  easily  created  out  of  any  materials, 
and  easily  lost.  An  orchard,  good  tillage,  good 
grounds,  seem  a  fixture,  like  a  gold  mine,  or  a  river, 
to  a  citizen ;  but  to  a  large  farmer,  not  much  more 
fixed  than  the  state  of  the  crop.  Nature  looks  pro- 
vokingly  stable  and  secular,  but  it  has  a  cause  like 
all  the  rest ;  and  when  once  I  comprehend  that,  will 
these  fields  stretch  so  immovably  wide,  these  leaves 
hang  so  individually  considerable  ?  Permanence  is 
a  word  of  degrees.  Every  thing  is  medial.  Moons 
are  no  more  bounds  to  spiritual  power  than  bat- 
balls. 

The  key  to  every  man  is  his  thought.  Sturdy  and 
defying  though  he  look,  he  has  a  helm  which  he 
obeys,  which  is  the  idea  after  which  all  his  facts  are 
classified.  He  can  only  be  reformed  by  showing 
him  a  new  idea  which  commands  his  own.  The  life  / 


276  ESSAY   X. 

of  man  is  a  self-evolving  circle,  which,  from  a  ring 
imperceptibly  small,  rushes  on  all  sides  outwards  to 
new  and  larger  circles,  and  that  without  end.  The 
extent  to  which  this  generation  of  circles,  wheel 
without  wheel,  will  go,  depends  on  the  force  or  truth 
of  the  individual  soul.  For  it  is  the  inert  effort  of 
each  thought,  having  formed  itself  into  a  circular 
wave  of  circumstance,  —  as,  for  instance,  an  empire, 
rules  of  an  art,  a  local  usage,  a  religious  rite,  —  to 
heap  itself  on  that  ridge,  and  to  solidify  and  hem  in 
the  life.  But  if  the  soul  is  quick  and  strong,  it 
bursts  over  that  boundary  on  all  sides,  and  expands 
another  orbit  on  the  great  deep,  which  also  runs  up 
into  a  high  wave,  with  attempt  again  to  stop  and 
to  bind.  But  the  heart  refuses  to  be  imprisoned  ; 
in  its  first  and  narrowest  pulses,  it  already  tends  out 
ward  with  a  vast  force,  and  to  immense  and  innumer 
able  expansions. 

Every  ultimate  fact  is  only  the  first  of  a  new  se 
ries.  Every  general  law  only  a  particular  fact  of 
some  more  general  law  presently  to  disclose  itself. 
There  is  no  outside,  no  inclosing  wall,  no  circum 
ference  to  us.  The  man  finishes  his  story,  —  how 
good  !  how  final  !  how  it  puts  a  new  face  on  all 
things  !  He  fills  the  sky.  Lo  !  on  the  other  side 
rises  also  a  man,  and  draws  a  circle  around  the  cir 
cle  we  had  just  pronounced  the  outline  of  the  sphere. 
Then  already  is  our  first  speaker  not  man,  but  only 


CIRCLES.  277 

a  first  speaker.  His  only  redress  is  forthwith  to  draw 
a  circle  outside  of  his  antagonist.  And  so  men  do 
by  themselves.  The  result  of  to-day,  which  haunts 
the  mind  and  cannot  be  escaped,  will  presently  be 
abridged  into  a  word,  and  the  principle  that  seemed 
to  explain  nature  will  itself  be  included  as  one  ex 
ample  of  a  bolder  generalization.  In  the  thought  of 
to-morrow  there  is  a  power  to  upheave  all  thy  creed, 
all  the  creeds,  all  the  literatures,  of  the  nations,  and 
marshal  thee  to  a  heaven  which  no  epic  dream  has 
yet  depicted.  Every  man  is  not  so  much  a  work 
man  in  the  world,  as  he  is  a  suggestion  of  that  he 
should  be.  Men  walk  as  prophecies  of  the  next 
age. 

Step  by  step  we  scale  this  mysterious  ladder  :  the 
steps  are  actions  ;  the  new  prospect  is  power.  Ev 
ery  several  result  is  threatened  and  judged  by  that 
which  follows.  Every  one  seems  to  be  contradicted 
by  the  new  ;  it  is  only  limited  by  the  new.  The 
new  statement  is  always  hated  by  the  old,  and, 
to  those  dwelling  in  the  old,  comes  like  an  abyss  of 
skepticism.  But  the  eye  soon  gets  wonted  to  it,  for 
the  eye  and  it  are  effects  of  one  cause  ;  then  its  in- 
nocency  and  benefit  appear,  and  presently,  all  its  en 
ergy  spent,  it  pales  and  dwindles  before  the  revela 
tion  of  the  new  hour. 

Fear  not  the  new  generalization.  Does  the  fact 
look  crass  and  material,  threatening  to  degrade  thy 


278  ESSAY    X. 

theory  of  spirit  ?  Resist  it  not ;  it  goes  to  refine 
and  raise  thy  theory  of  matter  just  as  much. 

There  are  no  fixtures  to  men,  if  we  appeal  to  con 
sciousness.  Every  man  supposes  himself  not  to  be 
fully  understood  ;  and  if  there  is  any  truth  in  him,  if 
he  rests  at  last  on  the  divine  soul,  I  see  not  how 
it  can  be  otherwise.  The  last  chamber,  the  last 
closet,  he  must  feel,  was  never  opened  ;  there  is 
always  a  residuum  unknown,  unanalyzable.  That 
is,  every  man  believes  that  he  has  a  greater  pos 
sibility. 

Our  moods  do  not  believe  in  each  other.  To-day 
I  am  full  of  thoughts,  and  can  write  what  I  please. 
I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  have  the  same 
thought,  the  same  power  of  expression,  to-morrow. 
What  I  write,  whilst  I  write  it,  seems  the  most  nat 
ural  thing  in  the  world  ;  but  yesterday  I  saw  a  dreary 
vacuity  in  this  direction  in  which  now  I  see  so  much  ; 
and  a  month  hence,  I  doubt  not,  I  shall  wonder  who 
he  was  that  wrote  so  many  continuous  pages.  Alas 
for  this  infirm  faith,  this  will  not  strenuous,  this  vast 
ebb  of  a  vast  flow  !  I  am  God  in  nature  ;  I  am  a 
weed  by  the  wall. 

The  continual  effort  to  raise  himself  above  him 
self,  to  work  a  pitch  above  his  last  height,  betrays  it 
self  in  a  man's  relations.  We  thirst  for  approbation, 
yet  cannot  forgive  the  approver.  The  sweet  of  na 
ture  is  love  ;  yet,  if  I  have  a  friend,  I  am  tormented 


CIRCLES.  279 

by  my  imperfections.  The  love  of  me  accuses  the 
other  party.  If  he  were  high  enough  to  slight  me, 
then  could  I  love  him,  and  rise  by  my  affection  to 
new  heights.  A  man's  growth  is  seen  in  the  succes 
sive  choirs  of  his  friends.  For  every  friend  whom 
he  loses  for  truth,  he  gains  a  better.  I  thought,  as 
I  walked  in  the  woods  and  mused  on  my  friends, 
why  should  I  play  with  them  this  game  of  idolatry  ? 
I  know  and  see  too  well,  when  not  voluntarily 
blind,  the  speedy  limits  of  persons  called  high 
and  worthy.  Rich,  noble,  and  great  they  are 
by  the  liberality  of  our  speech,  but  truth  is  sad. 
O  blessed  Spirit,  whom  I  forsake  for  these,  they 
are  not  thou  !  Every  personal  consideration  that 
we  allow  costs  us  heavenly  state.  We  sell  the 
thrones  of  angels  for  a  short  and  turbulent  pleas 
ure. 

How  often  must  we  learn  this  lesson  ?  Men 
cease  to  interest  us  when  we  find  their  limitations. 
The  only  sin  is  limitation.  As  soon  as  you  once 
come  up  with  a  man's  limitations,  it  is  all  over  with 
him.  Has  he  talents  ?  has  he  enterprise  ?  has  he 
knowledge  ?  it  boots  not.  Infinitely  alluring  and 
attractive  was  he  to  you  yesterday,  a  great  hope, 
a  sea  to  swim  in  ;  now,  you  have  found  his  shores, 
found  it  a  pond,  and  you  care  not  if  you  never  see  it 
again. 

Each   new  step   we   take   in   thought   reconciles 


280  ESSAY   X. 

twenty  seemingly  discordant  facts,  as  expressions  of 
one  law.  Aristotle  and  Plato  are  reckoned  the  re 
spective  heads  of  two  schools.  A  wise  man  will  see 
that  Aristotle  Platonizes.  By  going  one  step  farther 
back  in  thought,  discordant  opinions  are  reconciled, 
by  being  seen  to  be  two  extremes  of  one  principle, 
and  we  can  never  go  so  far  back  as  to  preclude  a  still 
higher  vision. 

Beware  when  the  great  God  lets  loose  a  thinker 
on  this  planet.  Then  all  things  are  at  risk.  It  is  as 
when  a  conflagration  has  broken  out  in  a  great  city, 
and  no  man  knows  what  is  safe,  or  where  it  will  end. 
There  is  not  a  piece  of  science,  but  its  flank  may  be 
turned  to-morrow ;  there  is  not  any  literary  reputa 
tion,  not  the  so-called  eternal  names  of  fame,  that 
may  not  be  revised  and  condemned.  The  very 
hopes  of  man,  the  thoughts  of  his  heart,  the  re 
ligion  of  nations,  the  manners  and  morals  of  man 
kind,  are  all  at  the  mercy  of  a  new  generalization. 
Generalization  is  always  a  new  influx  of  the  di 
vinity  into  the  mind.  Hence  the  thrill  that  at 
tends  it. 

Valor  consists  in  the  power  of  self-recovery,  so 
that  a  man  cannot  have  his  flank  turned,  cannot  be 
out-generalled,  but  put  him  where  you  will,  he  stands. 
This  can  only  be  by  his  preferring  truth  to  his  past 
apprehension  of  truth  ;  and  his  alert  acceptance  of 
it,  from  whatever  quarter  ;  the  intrepid  conviction 


CIRCLES.  281 

that  his  laws,  his  relations  to  society,  his  Christian 
ity,  his  world,  may  at  any  time  be  superseded  and 
decease. 

There  are  degrees  in  idealism.  We  learn  first  to 
play  with  it  academically,  as  the  magnet  was  once  a 
toy.  Then  we  see  in  the  heyday  of  youth  and  poet 
ry  that  it  may  be  true,  that  it  is  true  in  gleams  and 
fragments.  Then,  its  countenance  waxes  stern  and 
grand,  and  we  see  that  it  must  be  true.  It  now 
shows  itself  ethical  and  practical.  We  learn  that 
God  is  ;  that  he  is  in  me  ;  and  that  all  things  are 
shadows  of  him.  The  idealism  of  Berkeley  is  only 
a  crude  statement  of  the  idealism  of  Jesus,  and  that 
again  is  a  crude  statement  of  the  fact,  that  all  nature 
is  the  rapid  efflux  of  goodness  executing  and  organ 
izing  itself.  Much  more  obviously  is  history  and  the 
state  of  the  world  at  any  one  time  directly  depend 
ent  on  the  intellectual  classification  then  existing  in 
the  minds  of  men.  The  things  which  are  dear  to 
men  at  this  hour  are  so  on  account  of  the  ideas 
which  have  emerged  on  their  mental  horizon,  and 
which  cause  the  present  order  of  things  as  a  tree 
bears  its  Apples.  A  new  degree  of  culture  would 
instantly  revolutionize  the  entire  system  of  human 
pursuits. 

Conversation  is  a  game  of  circles.  In  conversa 
tion  we  pluck  up  the  termini  which  bound  the  com 
mon  of  silence  on  every  side.  The  parties  are  not 


*$ 


282  ESSAY   X. 

to  be  judged  by  the  spirit  they  partake  and  even  ex 
press  under  this  Pentecost.  To-morrow  they  will 
have  receded  from  this  high-water  mark.  To-mor 
row  you  shall  find  them  stooping  under  the  old  pack- 
saddles.  Yet  let  us  enjoy  the  cloven  flame  whilst  it 
glows  on  our  walls.  When  each  new  speaker  strikes 
a  new  light,  emancipates  us  from  the  oppression  of 
the  last  speaker,  to  oppress  us  with  the  greatness  and 
exclusiveness  of  his  own  thought,  then  yields  us  to 
another  redeemer,  we  seem  to  recover  our  rights,  to 
become  men.  O,  what  truths  profound  and  executa 
ble  only  in  ages  and  orbs  are  supposed  in  the  an 
nouncement  of  every  truth  !  In  common  hours,  so 
ciety  sits  cold  and  statuesque.  We  all  stand  wait 
ing,  empty,  —  knowing,  possibly,  that  we  can  be 
full,  surrounded  by  mighty  symbols  which  are  not 
symbols  to  us,  but  prose  and  trivial  toys.  Then 
cometh  the  god,  and  converts  the  statues  into  fiery 
men,  and  by  a  flash  of  his  eye  burns  up  the  veil 
which  shrouded  all  things,  and  the  meaning  of  the 
very  furniture,  of  cup  and  saucer,  of  chair  and  clock 
and  tester,  is  manifest.  The  facts  which  loomed  so 
large  in  the  fogs  of  yesterday,  —  property,  climate, 
breeding,  personal  beauty,  and  the  like,  have  strange 
ly  changed  their  proportions.  All  that  we  reck 
oned  settled  shakes  and  rattles  ;  and  literatures,  cit 
ies,  climates,  religions,  leave  their  foundations,  and 
dance  before  our  eyes.  And  yet  here  again  see  the 


CIRCLES.  283 

swift  circumspection  !  Good  as  is  discourse,  silence 
is  better,  and  shames  it.  The  length  of  the  discourse 
indicates  the  distance  of  thought  betwixt  the  speaker 
and  the  hearer.  If  they  were  at  a  perfect  under 
standing  in  any  part,  no  words  would  be  necessary 
thereon.  If  at  one  in  all  parts,  no  words  would  be 
suffered. 

Literature  is  a  point  outside  of  our  hodiernal  cir 
cle,  through  which  a  new  one  may  be  described. 
The  use  of  literature  is  to  afford  us  a  platform 
whence  we  may  command  a  view  of  our  present 
life,  a  purchase  by  which  we  may  move  it.  We 
fill  ourselves  with  ancient  learning,  install  ourselves 
the  best  we  can  in  Greek,  in  Punic,  in  Roman  hous 
es,  only  that  we  may  wiselier  see  French,  English, 
and  American  houses  and  modes  of  living.  In  like 
manner,  we  see  literature  best  from  the  midst  of  wild 
nature,  or  from  the  din  of  affairs,  or  from  a  high  re 
ligion.  The  field  cannot  be  well  seen  from  within 
the  field.  The  astronomer  must  have  his  diameter 
of  the  earth's  orbit  as  a  base  to  find  the  parallax  of 
any  star. 

Therefore  we  value  the  poet.  All  the  argument 
and  all  the  wisdom  is  not  in  the  encyclopaedia,  or  the 
treatise  on  metaphysics,  or  the  Bo^y  of  Divinity,  but 
in  the  sonnet  or  the  play.  In  my  daily  work  I  incline 
to  repeat  my  old  steps,  and  do  not  believe  in  reme 
dial  force,  in  the  power  of  change  and  reform.  But 


284  ESSAY    X. 

some  Petrarch  or  Ariosto,  filled  with  the  new  wine 
of  his  imagination,  writes  me  an  ode  or  a  brisk  ro 
mance,  full  of  daring  thought  and  action.  He  smites 
and  arouses  me  with  his  shrill  tones,  breaks  up  my 
whole  chain  of  habits,  and  I  open  my  eye  on  my 
own  possibilities.  He  claps  wings  to  the  sides  of  all 
the  solid  old  lumber  of  the  world,  and  I  am  capable 
once  more  of  choosing  a  straight  path  in  theory  and 
practice. 

We  have  the  same  need  to  command  a  view  of  the 
religion  of  the  world.  We  can  never  see  Christian 
ity  from  the  catechism  :  —  from  the  pastures,  from  a 
boat  in  the  pond,  from  amidst  the  songs  of  wood- 
birds,  we  possibly  may.  Cleansed  by  the  elemental 
light  and  wind,  steeped  in  the  sea  of  beautiful  forms 
which  the  field  offers  us,  we  may  chance  to  cast  a 
right  glance  back  upon  biography.  Christianity  is 
rightly  dear  to  the  best  of  mankind  ;  yet  was  there 
never  a  young  philosopher  whose  breeding  had  fallen 
into  the  Christian  church,  by  whom  that  brave  text 
of  Paul's  was  not  specially  prized  :  —  "  Then  shall 
also  the  Son  be  subject  unto  Him  who  put  all  things 
under  him,  that  God  may  be  all  in  all."  Let  the 
claims  and  virtues  of  persons  be  never  so  great  and 
welcome,  the  instinct  of  man  presses  eagerly  onward 
to  the  impersonal  and  illimitable,  and  gladly  arms  it 
self  against  the  dogmatism  of  bigots  with  this  gener 
ous  word  out  of  the  book  itself. 


CIRCLES.  285 

The  natural  world  may  be  conceived  of  as  a  sys 
tem  of  concentric  circles,  and  we  now  and  then  de 
tect  in  nature  slight  dislocations,  which  apprize  us  that 
this  surface  on  which  we  now  stand  is  not  fixed,  but 
sliding.  These  manifold  tenacious  qualities,  this 
chemistry  and  vegetation,  these  metals  and  animals, 
which  seem  to  stand  there  for  their  own  sake,  are 
means  and  methods  only,  —  are  words  of  God,  and 
as  fugitive  as  other  words.  Has  the  naturalist  or 
chemist  learned  his  craft,  who  has  explored  the  grav 
ity  of  atoms  and  the  elective  affinities,  who  has  not 
yet  discerned  the  deeper  law  whereof  this  is  only  a 
partial  or  approximate  statement,  namely,  that  like 
draws  to  like  ;  and  that  the  goods  which  belong  to 
you  gravitate  to  you,  and  need  not  be  pursued  with 
pains  and  cost  ?  Yet  is  that  statement  approximate 
also,  and  not  final.  Omnipresence  is  a  higher  fact. 
Not  through  subtle,  subterranean  channels  need  friend 
and  fact  be  drawn  to  their  counterpart,  but,  rightly 
considered,  these  things  proceed  from  the  eternal 
generation  of  the  soul.  Cause  and  effect  are  two 
sides  of  one  fact. 

The  same  law  of  eternal  procession  ranges  all  that 
we  call  the  virtues,  and  extinguishes  each  in  the  light 
of  a  better.  The  great  man  will  not  be  prudent  in 
the  popular  sense  ;  all  his  prudence  will  be  so  much 
deduction  from  his  grandeur.  But  it  behooves  each 
to  see,  when  he  sacrifices  prudence,  to  what  god  he 


286  ESSAY   X. 

devotes  it ;  if  to  ease  and  pleasure,  he  had  better  be 
prudent  still  ;  if  to  a  great  trust,  he  can  well  spare 
his  mule  and  panniers  who  has  a  winged  chariot  in 
stead.  Geoffrey  draws  on  his  boots  to  go  through 
the  woods,  that  his  feet  may  be  safer  from  the  bite 
of  snakes  ;  Aaron  never  thinks  of  such  a  peril.  In 
many  years  neither  is  harmed  by  such  an  accident. 
Yet  it  seems  to  me,  that,  with  every  precaution  you 
take  against  such  an  evil,  you  put  yourself  into  the 
power  of  the  evil.  I  suppose  that  the  highest  pru 
dence  is  the  lowest  prudence.  Is  this  too  sudden  a 
rushing  from  the  centre  to  the  verge  of  our  orbit  ? 
Think  how  many  times  wTe  shall  fall  back  into  pitiful 
calculations  before  we  take  up  our  rest  in  the  great 
sentiment,  or  make  the  verge  of  to-day  the  new  cen 
tre.  Besides,  your  bravest  sentiment  is  familiar 
to  the  humblest  men.  The  poor  and  the  low  have 
their  way  of  expressing  the  last  facts  of  philosophy 
as  well  as  you.  "  Blessed  be  nothing,"  and  "the 
worse  things  are,  the  better  they  are,"  are  prov 
erbs  which  express  the  transcendentalism  of  common 
life. 

One  man's  justice  is  another's  injustice  ;  one 
man's  beauty,  another's  ugliness  ;  one  man's  wisdom, 
another's  folly ;  as  one  beholds  the  same  objects  from 
a  higher  point.  One  man  thinks  justice  consists  in 
paying  debts,  and  has  no  measure  in  his  abhorrence 
of  another  who  is  very  remiss  in  this  duty,  and  makes 


CIRCLES.  287 

the  creditor  wait  tediously.  But  that  second  man 
has  his  own  way  of  looking  at  things  ;  asks  himself 
which  debt  must  I  pay  first,  the  debt  to  the  rich,  or 
the  debt  to  the  poor  ?  the  debt  of  money,  or  the 
debt  of  thought  to  mankind,  of  genius  to  nature  ? 
For  you,  O  broker  !  there  is  no  other  principle  but 
arithmetic.  For  me,  commerce  is  of  trivial  import  ; 
love,  faith,  truth  of  character,  the  aspiration  of  man, 
these  are  sacred  ;  nor  can  I  detach  one  duty,  like 
you,  from  all  other  duties,  and  concentrate  my  forces 
mechanically  on  the  payment  of  moneys.  Let  me 
live  onward  ;  you  shall  find  that,  though  slower,  the 
progress  of  my  character  will  liquidate  all  these 
debts  without  injustice  to  higher  claims.  If  a  man 
should  dedicate  himself  to  the  payment  of  notes, 
would  not  this  be  injustice  ?  Does  he  owe  no  debt 
but  money  ?  And  are  all  claims  on  him  to  be  post 
poned  to  a  landlord's  or  a  banker's  ? 

There  is  no  virtue  which  is  final  ;  all  are  initial. 
The  virtues  of  society  are  vices  of  the  saint.  The 
terror  of  reform  is  the  discovery  that  we  must  cast 
away  our  virtues,  or  what  we  have  always  esteemed 
such,  into  the  same  pit  that  has  consumed  our  grosser 
vices. 

"  Forgive  his  crimes,  forgive  his  virtues  too, 
Those  smaller  faults,  half  converts  to  the  right." 

It  is  the  highest  power  of  divine  moments  that 
they  abolish  our  contritions  also.  I  accuse  myself 


ESSAY    X. 

of  sloth  and  unprofitableness  day  by  day  ;  but  when 
these  waves  of  God  flow  into  me,  I  no  longer  reckon 
lost  time.  I  no  longer  poorly  compute  my  possible 
achievement  by  what  remains  to  me  of  the  month 
or  the  year  ;  for  these  moments  confer  a  sort  of 
omnipresence  and  omnipotence  which  asks  nothing 
of  duration,  but  sees  that  the  energy  of  the  mind 
is  commensurate  with  the  work  to  be  done,  without 
time. 

And  thus,  O  circular  philosopher,  I  hear  some 
reader  exclaim,  you  have  arrived  at  a  fine  Pyr 
rhonism,  at  an  equivalence  and  indifTerency  of  all 
actions,  and  would  fain  teach  us  that,  if  we  are 
true,  forsooth,  our  crimes  may  be  lively  stones 
out  of  which  we  shall  construct  the  temple  of  the 
true  God  ! 

I  am  not  careful  to  justify  myself.  I  own  I  am 
gladdened  by  seeing  the  predominance  of  the  saccha 
rine  principle  throughout  vegetable  nature,  and  not 
less  by  beholding  in  morals  that  unrestrained  inun 
dation  of  the  principle  of  good  into  every  chink 
and  hole  that  selfishness  has  left  open,  yea,  into 
selfishness  and  sin  itself;  so  that  no  evil  is  pure, 
nor  hell  itself  without  its  extreme  satisfactions. 
But  lest  I  should  mislead  any  when  I  have  my 
own  head  and  obey  my  whims,  let  me  remind 
the  reader  that  I  am  only  an  experimenter.  Do 
not  set  the  least  value  on  what  I  do,  or  the  least 


CIRCLES.  289 

discredit  on  what  I  do  not,  as  if  I  pretended  to  set 
tle  any  thing  as  true  or  false.  I  unsettle  all  things. 
No  facts  are  to  me  sacred  ;  none  are  profane  ;  I 
simply  experiment,  an  endless  seeker,  with  no  Past 
at  my  back. 

Yet  this  incessant  movement  and  progression  which 
all  things  partake  could  never  become  sensible  to  us 
but  by  contrast  to  some  principle  of  fixture  or 
stability  in  the  soul.  Whilst  the  eternal  genera 
tion  of  circles  proceeds,  the  eternal  generator  abides. 
That  central  life  is  somewhat  superior  to  creation, 
superior  to  knowledge  and  thought,  and  contains 
all  its  circles.  For  ever  it  labors  to  create  a  life 
and  thought  as  large  and  excellent  as  itself ;  but  in 
vain  ;  for  that  which  is  made  instructs  how  to  make 
a  better. 

Thus  there  is  no  sleep,  no  pause,  no  preservation, 
but  all  things  renew,  germinate,  and  spring.  Why 
should  we  import  rags  and  relics  into  the  new  hour  ? 
Nature  abhors  the  old,  and  old  age  seems  the  only 
disease  ;  all  others  run  into  this  one.  We  call  it  by 
many  names, — fever,  intemperance,  insanity,  stupid 
ity,  and  crime ;  they  are  all  forms  of  old  age ;  they 
are  rest,  conservatism,  appropriation,  inertia,  not  new 
ness,  not  the  way  onward.  We  grizzle  every  day. 
I  see  no  need  of  it.  Whilst  we  converse  with  what 
is  above  us,  we  do  not  grow  old,  but  grow  young. 
Infancy,  youth,  receptive,  aspiring,  with  religious 
19 


290  ESSAY    X. 

eye  looking  upward,  counts  itself  nothing,  and  aban 
dons  itself  to  the  instruction  flowing  from  all  sides. 
But  the  man  and  woman  of  seventy  assume  to  know 
all,  they  have  outlived  their  hope,  they  renounce  aspi 
ration,  accept  the  actual  for  the  necessary,  and  talk 
down  to  the  young.  Let  them,  then,  become  organs 
of  the  Holy  Ghost ;  let  them  be  lovers  ;  let  them  be 
hold  truth  ;  and  their  eyes  are  uplifted,  their  wrinkles 
smoothed,  they  are  perfumed  again  with  hope  and 
power.  This  old  age  ought  not  to  creep  on  a  hu 
man  mind.  In  nature  every  moment  is  new  ;  the 
past  is  always  swallowed  and  forgotten  ;  the  coming 
only  is  sacred.  Nothing  is  secure  but  life,  transition, 
the  energizing  spirit.  No  love  can  be  bound  by  oath 
or  covenant  to  secure  it  against  a  higher  love.  No 
truth  so  sublime  but  it  may  be  trivial  to-morrow  in 
the  light  of  new  thoughts.  People  wish  to  be  set 
tled  ;  only  as  far  as  they  are  unsettled  is  there  any 
hope  for  them. 

Life  is  a  series  of  surprises.  We  do  not  guess 
to-day  the  mood,  the  pleasure,  the  power  of  to 
morrow,  when  we  are  building  up  our  being.  Of 
lower  states,  —  of  acts  of  routine  and  sense,  —  we  can 
tell  somewhat;  but  the  masterpieces  of  God,  the  total 
growths  and  universal  movements  of  the  soul,  he 
hideth  ;  they  are  incalculable.  I  can  know  that 
truth  is  divine  and  helpful  ;  but  how  it  shall  help  me 
I  can  have  no  guess,  for  so  to  be  is  the  sole  inlet  of 


CIRCLES.  291 

so  to  know.  The  new  position  of  the  advancing  man 
has  all  the  powers  of  the  old,  yet  has  them  all  new. 
It  carries  in  its  bosom  all  the  energies  of  the  past, 
yet  is  itself  an  exhalation  of  the  morning.  I  cast 
away  in  this  new  moment  all  my  once  hoarded  knowl 
edge,  as  vacant  and  vain.  Now,  for  the  first  time, 
seem  I  to  know  any  thing  rightly.  The  simplest 
words,  —  we  do  not  know  what  they  mean,  except 
when  we  love  and  aspire. 

The  difference  between  talents  and  character  is 
adroitness  to  keep  the  old  and  trodden  round,  and 
power  and  courage  to  make  a  new  road  to  new  and 
better  goals.  Character  makes  an  overpowering 
present ;  a  cheerful,  determined  hour,  which  fortifies 
all  the  company,  by  making  them  see  that  much  is 
possible  and  excellent  that  was  not  thought  of. 
Character  dulls  the  impression  of  particular  events. 
When  we  see  the  conqueror,  we  do  not  think  much 
of  any  one  battle  or  success.  We  see  that  we  had 
exaggerated  the  difficulty.  It  was  easy  to  him. 
The  great  man  is  not  convulsible  or  tormentable  ; 
events  pass  over  him  without  much  impression.  Peo 
ple  say  sometimes,  c  See  what  I  have  overcome  ; 
see  how  cheerful  I  am  ;  see  how  completely  I  have 
triumphed  over  these  black  events.'  Not  if  they 
still  remind  me  of  the  black  event.  True  conquest 
is  the  causing  the  calamity  to  fade  and  disappear,  as 
an  early  cloud  of  insignificant  result  in  a  history  so 
large  and  advancing. 


292 


ESSAY    X. 


The  one  thing  which  we  seek  with  insatiable  de 
sire  is  to  forget  ourselves,  to  be  surprised  out  of  our 
propriety,  to  iose  our  sempiternal  memory,  and  to  do 
something  without  knowing  how  or  why  ;  in  short,  to 
draw  a  new  circle.  Nothing  great  was  ever  achieved 
without  enthusiasm.  The  way  of  life  is  wonderful  : 
it  is  by  abandonment.  The  great  moments  of  histo 
ry  are  the  facilities  of  performance  through  the 
strength  of  ideas,  as  the  works  of  genius  and  re 
ligion.  "  A  man,"  said  Oliver  Cromwell,  "never 
rises  so  high  as  when  he  knows  not  whither  he  is  go 
ing."  Dreams  and  drunkenness,  the  use  of  opium 
and  alcohol  are  the  semblance  and  counterfeit  of 
this  oracular  genius,  and  hence  their  dangerous  at 
traction  for  men.  For  the  like  reason,  they  ask  the 
aid  of  wild  passions,  as  in  gaming  and  war,  to  ape  in 
some  manner  these  flames  and  generosities  of  the 
heart. 


INTELLECT. 


Go,  speed  the  stars  of  Thought 
On  to  their  shining  goals  ;  — 
The  sower  scatters  broad  his  seed, 
The  wheat  thou  strew'st  be  souls 


ESSAY   XI. 
INTELLECT 


EVERY  substance  is  negatively  electric  to  that 
which  stands  above  it  in  the  chemical  tables,  posi 
tively  to  that  which  stands  below  it.  Water  dis 
solves  wood,  and  iron,  and  salt ;  air  dissolves  water  ; 
electric  fire  dissolves  air,  but  the  intellect  dissolves 
fire,  gravity,  laws,  method,  and  the  subtlest  unnamed 
relations  of  nature,  in  its  resistless  menstruum.  Intel 
lect  lies  behind  genius,  which  is  intellect  constructive. 
Intellect  is  the  simple  power  anterior  to  all  action  or 
construction.  Gladly  would  I  unfold  in  calm  degrees 
a  natural  history  of  the  intellect,  but  what  man  has 
yet  been  able  to  mark  the  steps  and  boundaries  of 
that  transparent  essence  ?  The  first  questions  are 
always  to  be  asked,  and  the  wisest  doctor  is  grav 
elled  by  the  inquisitiveness  of  a  child.  How  can  we 
speak  of  the  action  of  the  mind  under  any  divisions, 
as  of  its  knowledge,  of  its  ethics,  of  its  works,  and 
so  forth,  since  it  melts  will  into  perception,  knowl- 


296  ESSAY   XI. 

edge  into  act?  Each  becomes  the  other.  Itself 
alone  is.  Its  vision  is  not  like  the  vision  of  the  eye, 
but  is  union  with  the  things  known. 

Intellect  and  intellection  signify  to  the  common  ear 
consideration  of  abstract  truth.  The  considerations 
of  time  and  place,  of  you  and  me,  of  profit  and  hurt, 
tyrannize  over  most  men's  minds.  Intellect  sep 
arates  the  fact  considered  from  you,  from  all  local 
and  personal  reference,  and  discerns  it  as  if  it  exist 
ed  for  its  own  sake.  Heraclitus  looked  upon  the 
affections  as  dense  and  colored  mists.  In  the  fog  of 
good  and  evil  affections,  it  is  hard  for  man  to  walk 
forward  in  a  straight  line.  Intellect  is  void  of  affec 
tion,  and  sees  an  object  as  it  stands  in  the  light  of 
science,  cool  and  disengaged.  The  intellect  goes  out 
of  the  individual,  floats  over  its  own  personality,  and 
regards  it  as  a  fact,  and  not  as  /  and  mine.  He  who 
is  immersedin  what  concerns  person  or  place  can 
not  see  the^ffoblem  of  existence.  This  the  intel 
lect  always  ponders.  Nature  shows  all  things  formed 
and  bound.  The  intellect  pierces  the  form,  over 
leaps  the  wall,  detects  intrinsic  likeness  between  re 
mote  things,  and  reduces  all  things  into  a  few  prin 
ciples. 

The  making  a  fact  the  subject  of  thought  raises  it. 
All  that  mass  of  mental  and  moral  phenomena,  which 
we  do  not  make  objects  of  voluntary  thought,  come 
within  the  power  of  fortune  ;  they  constitute  the  cir- 


INTELLECT.  297 

cumstance  of  daily  life  ;  they  are  subject  to  change, 
to  fear,  and  hope.  Every  man  beholds  his  human 
condition  with  a  degree  of  melancholy.  As  a  ship 
aground  is  battered  by  the  waves,  so  man,  impris 
oned  in  mortal  life,  lies  open  to  the  mercy  of  coming 
events.  But  a  truth,  separated  by  the  intellect,  is 
no  longer  a  subject  of  destiny.  We  behold  it  as  a 
god  upraised  above  care  and  fear.  And  so  any  fact 
in  our  life,  or  any  record  of  our  fancies  or  reflec 
tions,  disentangled  from  the  web  of  our  unconscious 
ness,  becomes  an  object  impersonal  and  immortal. 
It  is  the  past  restored,  but  embalmed.  A  better  art 
than  that  of  Egypt  has  taken  fear  and  corruption  out 
of  it.  It  is  eviscerated  of  care.  It  is  offered  for 
science.  What  is  addressed  to  us  for  contemplation 
does  not  threaten  us,  but  makes  us  intellectual  be 
ings. 

The  growth  of  the  intellect  is  spontaneous  in  every 
expansion.  The  mind  that  grows  could  not  predict 
the  times,  the  means,  the  mode  of  that  spontaneity. 
God  enters  by  a  private  door  into  every  individual. 
Long  prior  to  the  age  of  reflection  is  the  thinking  of 
the  mind.  Out  of  darkness,  it  came  insensibly  into 
the  marvellous  light  of  to-day.  In  the  period  of  in 
fancy  it  accepted  arid  disposed  of  all  impressions  from 
the  surrounding  creation  after  its  own  way.  What 
ever  any  mind  doth  or  saith  is  after  a  law  ;  and 
this  native  law  remains  over  it  after  it  has  come  to 


298  ESSAY    XI. 

reflection  or  conscious  thought.  In  the  most  worn, 
pedantic,  introverted  self-tormenter's  life,  the  great 
est  part  is  incalculable  by  him,  unforeseen,  unimagina 
ble,  and  must  be,  until  he  can  take  himself  up  by  his 
own  ears.  What  am  I  ?  What  has  my  will  done  to 
make  me  that  I  am  ?  Nothing.  I  have  been  floated 
into  this  thought,  this  hour,  this  connection  of  events, 
by  secret  currents  of  might  and  mind,  and  my  in 
genuity  and  wilfulness  have  not  thwarted,  have  not 
aided  to  an  appreciable  degree. 

Our  spontaneous  action  is  always  the  best.  You 
cannot,  with  your  best  deliberation  and  heed,  come 
so  close  to  any  question  as  your  spontaneous  glance 
shall  bring  you,  whilst  you  rise  from  your  bed,  or 
walk  abroad  in  the  morning  after  meditating  the  mat 
ter  before  sleep  on  the  previous  night.  Our  think 
ing  is  a  pious  reception.  Our  truth  of  thought  is 
therefore  vitiated  as  much  by  too  violent  direction 
given  by  our  will,  as  by  too  great  negligence.  We 
do  not  determine  what  we  will  think.  We  only  open 
our  senses,  clear  away,  as  we  can,  all  obstruction 
from  the  fact,  and  suffer  the  intellect  to  see.  We 
have  little  control  over  our  thoughts.  We  are  the 
prisoners  of  ideas.  They  catch  us  up  for  moments 
into  their  heaven,  and  so  fully  engage  us,  that  we  take 
no  thought  for  the  morrow,  gaze  like  children,  with 
out  an  effort  to  make  them  our  own.  By  and  by  we 
fall  out  of  that  rapture,  bethink  us  where  we  have 


INTELLECT.  299 

been,  what  we  have  seen,  and  repeat,  as  truly  as  we 
can,  what  we  have  beheld.  As  far  as  we  can  recall 
these  ecstasies,  we  carry  away  in  the  ineffaceable 
memory  the  result,  and  all  men  and  all  the  ages  con 
firm  it.  It  is  called  Truth.  But  the  moment  we 
cease  to  report,  and  attempt  to  correct  and  contrive, 
it  is  not  truth. 

If  we  consider  what  persons  have  stimulated  and 
profited  us,  we  shall  perceive  the  superiority  of  the 
spontaneous  or  intuitive  principle  over  the  arithmeti 
cal  or  logical.  The  first  contains  the  second,  but 
virtual  and  latent.  We  want,  in  every  man,  a  long 
logic  ;  we  cannot  pardon  the  absence  of  it,  but  it 
must  not  be  spoken.  Logic  is  the  procession  or 
proportionate  unfolding  of  the  intuition  ;  but  its  vir 
tue  is  as  silent  method  ;  the  moment  it  would  appear 
as  propositions,  and  have  a  separate  value,  it  is 
worthless. 

In  every  man's  mind,  some  images,  words,  and 
facts  remain,  without  effort  on  his  part  to  imprint 
them,  which  others  forget,  and  afterwards  these  illus 
trate  to  him  important  laws.  All  our  progress  is  an 
unfolding,  like  the  vegetable  bud.  You  have  first  an 
instinct,  then  an  opinion,  then  a  knowledge,  as  the 
plant  has  root,  bud,  and  fruit.  Trust  the  instinct  to 
the  end,  though  you  can  render  no  reason.  It  is  vain 
to  hurry  it.  By  trusting  it  to  the  end,  it  shall  ripen 
into  truth,  and  you  shall  know  why  you  believe. 


300  ESSAY    XI. 

Each  mind  has  its  own  method.  A  true  man  never 
acquires  after  college  rules.  What  you  have  aggre 
gated  in  a  natural  manner  surprises  and  delights  when 
it  is  produced.  For  we  cannot  oversee  each  other's 
secret.  And  hence  the  differences  between  men  in 
natural  endowment  are  insignificant  in  comparison 
with  their  common  wealth.  Do  you  think  the  porter 
and  the  cook  have  no  anecdotes,  no  experiences,  no 
wonders  for  you  ?  Every  body  knows  as  much  as 
the  savant.  The  walls  of  rude  minds  are  scrawled 
all  over  with  facts,  with  thoughts.  They  shall  one 
day  bring  a  lantern  and  read  the  inscriptions.  Every 
man,  in  the  degree  in  which  he  has  wit  and  culture, 
finds  his  curiosity  inflamed  concerning  the  modes  of 
living  and  thinking  of  other  men,  and  especially  of 
those  classes  whose  minds  have  not  been  subdued  by 
the  drill  cf  school  education. 

This  instinctive  action  never  ceases  in  a  healthy 
mind,  but  becomes  richer  and  more  frequent  in  its 
informations  through  all  states  of  culture.  At  last 
comes  the  era  of  reflection,  when  we  not  only  ob 
serve,  but  take  pains  to  observe ;  when  we  of  set 
purpose  sit  down  to  consider  an  abstract  truth ;  when 
we  keep  the  mind's  eye  open,  whilst  we  converse, 
whilst  we  read,  whilst  we  act,  intent  to  learn  the 
secret  law  of  some  class  of  facts. 

What  is  the  hardest  task  in  the  world  ?  To  think. 
I  would  put  myself  in  the  attitude  to  look  in  the  eye 


INTELLECT.  301 

an  abstract  truth,  and  I  cannot.  I  blench  and  with 
draw  on  this  side  and  on  that.  I  seem  to  know  what 
he  meant  who  said,  No  man  can  see  God  face  to 
face  and  live.  For  example,  a  man  explores  the 
basis  of  civil  government.  Let  him  intend  his  mind 
without  respite,  without  rest,  in  one  direction.  His 
best  heed  long  time  avails  him  nothing.  Yet  thoughts 
are  flitting  before  him.  We  all  but  apprehend,  we 
dimly  forebode  the  truth.  We  say,  I  will  walk  abroad, 
and  the  truth  will  take  form  and  clearness  to  me. 
We  go  forth,  but  cannot  find  it.  It  seems  as  if  we 
needed  only  the  stillness  and  composed  attitude  of  the 
library  to  seize  the  thought.  But  we  come  in,  and 
are  as  far  from  it  as  at  first.  Then,  in  a  moment, 
and  unannounced,  the  truth  appears.  A  certain, 
wandering  light  appears,  and  is  the  distinction,  the 
principle,  we  wanted.  But  the  oracle  comes,  because 
we  had  previously  laid  siege  to  the  shrine.  It  seems 
as  if  the  law  of  the  intellect  resembled  that  law  of 
nature  by  which  we  now  inspire,  now  expire  the 
breath  ;  by  which  the  heart  now  draws  in,  then  hurls 
out  the  blood, — the  law  of  undulation.  So  now 
you  must  labor  with  your  brains,  and  now  you  must 
forbear  your  activity,  and  see  what  the  great  Soul 
showeth. 

The  immortality  of  man  is  as  legitimately  preached 
from  the  intellections  as  from  the  moral  volitions. 
Every  intellection  is  mainly  prospective.  Its  pres- 


302  ESSAY    XI. 

ent  value  is  its  least.  Inspect  what  delights  you  in 
Plutarch,  in  Shakspeare,  in  Cervantes.  Each  truth 
that  a  writer  acquires  is  a  lantern,  which  he  turns  full 
on  what  facts  and  thoughts  lay  already  in  his  mind, 
and  behold,  all  the  mats  and  rubbish  which  had  lit 
tered  his  garret  become  precious.  Every  trivial  fact 
in  his  private  biography  becomes  an  illustration  of  this 
new  principle,  revisits  the  day,  and  delights  all  men 
by  its  piquancy  and  new  charm.  Men  say,  Where 
did  he  get  this  ?  and  think  there  was  something  divine 
in  his  life.  But  no  ;  they  have  myriads  of  facts  just 
as  good,  would  they  only  get  a  lamp  to  ransack  their 
attics  withal. 

We  are  all  wise.  The  difference  between  per 
sons  is  not  in  wisdom  but  in  art.  I  knew,  in  an  aca 
demical  club,  a  person  who  always  deferred  to  me, 
who,  seeing  my  whim  for  writing,  fancied  that  my  ex 
periences  had  somewhat  superior  ;  whilst  I  saw  that 
his  experiences  were  as  good  as  mine.  Give  them  to 
me,  and  I  would  make  the  same  use  of  them.  He 
held  the  old  ;  he  holds  the  new  ;  I  had  the  habit  of 
tacking  together  the  old  and  the  new,  which  he  did 
not  use  to  exercise.  This  may  hold  in  the  great  ex 
amples.  Perhaps  if  we  should  meet  Shakspeare,  we 
should  not  be  conscious  of  any  steep  inferiority;  no: 
but  of  a  great  equality,  —  only  that  he  possessed  a 
strange  skill  of  using,  of  classifying,  his  facts,  which 
we  lacked.  For,  notwithstanding  our  utter  inca- 


INTELLECT.  308 

pacity  to  produce  any  thing  like  Hamlet  and  Othello, 
see  the  perfect  reception  this  wit,  and  immense 
knowledge  of  life,  and  liquid  eloquence  find  in  us  all. 

If  you  gather  apples  in  the  sunshine,  or  make  hay, 
or  hoe  corn,  and  then  retire  within  doors,  and  shut 
your  eyes,  and  press  them  with  your  hand,  you  shall 
still  see  apples  hanging  in  the  bright  light,  with  boughs 
and  leaves  thereto,  or  the  tasselled  grass,  or  the  corn- 
flags,  and  this  for  five  or  six  hours  afterwards.  There 
lie  the  impressions  on  the  retentive  organ,  though  you 
knew  it  not.  So  lies  the  whole  series  of  natural  im 
ages  with  which  your  life  has  made  you  acquainted 
in  your  memory,  though  you  know  it  not,  and  a  thrill 
of  passion  flashes  light  on  their  dark  chamber,  and 
the  active  power  seizes  instantly  the  fit  image,  as  the 
word  of  its  momentary  thought. 

It  is  long  ere  we  discover  how  rich  we  are. 
Our  history,  we  are  sure,  is  quite  tame  :  we  have 
nothing  to  write,  nothing  to  infer.  But  our  wiser 
years  still  run  back  to  the  despised  recollections  of 
childhood,  and  always  we  are  fishing  up  some  won 
derful  article  out  of  that  pond  ;  until,  by  and  by,  we 
begin  to  suspect  that  the  biography  of  the  one  foolish 
person  we  know  is,  in  reality,  nothing  less  than  the 
miniature  paraphrase  of  the  hundred  volumes  of  the 
Universal  History. 

In  the  intellect  constructive,  which  we  popularly 
designate  by  the  word  Genius,  we  observe  the  same 


304  ESSAY   XI. 

balance  of  two  elements  as  in  intellect  receptive. 
The  constructive  intellect  produces  thoughts,  senten 
ces,  poems,  plans,  designs,  systems.  It  is  the  gener 
ation  of  the  mind,  the  marriage  of  thought  with  na 
ture.  To  genius  must  always  go  two  gifts,  the  thought 
and  the  publication.  The  first  is  revelation,  always 
a  miracle,  which  no  frequency  of  occurrence  or  in 
cessant  study  can  ever  familiarize,  but  which  must 
always  leave  the  inquirer  stupid  with  wonder.  It  is 
the  advent  of  truth  into  the  world,  a  form  of  thought 
now,  for  the  first  time,  bursting  into  the  universe,  a 
child  of  the  old  eternal  soul,  a  piece  of  genuine  and 
immeasurable  greatness.  It  seems,  for  the  time,  to 
inherit  all  that  has  yet  existed,  and  to  dictate  to  the 
unborn.  It  affects  every  thought  of  man,  and  goes 
to  fashion  every  institution.  But  to  make  it  availa 
ble,  it  needs  a  vehicle  or  art  by  which  it  is  conveyed 
to  men.  To  be  communicable,  it  must  become  pic 
ture  or  sensible  object.  We  must  learn  the  language 
of  facts.  The  most  wonderful  inspirations  die  with 
their  subject,  if  he  has  no  hand  to  paint  them  to  the 
senses.  The  ray  of  light  passes  invisible  through 
space,  and  only  when  it  falls  on  an  object  is  it  seen. 
When  the  spiritual  energy  is  directed  on  something 
outward,  then  it  is  a  thought.  The  relation  between 
it  and  you  first  makes  you,  the  value  of  you,  appar 
ent  to  me.  The  rich,  inventive  genius  of  the  painter 
must  be  smothered  and  lost  for  want  of  the  power  of 


INTELLECT.  305 

drawing,  and  in  our  happy  hours  we  should  be  inex 
haustible  poets,  if  once  we  could  break  through  the 
silence  into  adequate  rhyme.  As  all  men  have  some 
access  to  primary  truth,  so  all  have  some  art  or  pow 
er  of  communication  in  their  head,  but  only  in  the 
artist  does  it  descend  into  the  hand.  There  is  an  in 
equality,  whose  laws  we  do  not  yet  know,  between 
two  men  and  between  two  moments  of  the  same  man, 
in  respect  to  this  faculty.  In  common  hours,  we 
have  the  same  facts  as  in  the  uncommon  or  inspired, 
but  they  do  not  sit  for  their  portraits  ;  they  are  not  de 
tached,  but  lie  in  a  web.  The  thought  of  genius  is 
spontaneous  ;  but  the  power  of  picture  or  expres 
sion,  in  the  most  enriched  and  flowing  nature,  implies 
a  mixture  of  will,  a  certain  control  over  the  spontane 
ous  states,  without  which  no  production  is  possible. 
It  is  a  conversion  of  all  nature  into  the  rhetoric  of 
thought,  under  the  eye  of  judgment,  with  a  strenu 
ous  exercise  of  choice.  And  yet  the  imaginative 
vocabulary  seems  to  be  spontaneous  also.  It  does 
not  flow  from  experience  only  or  mainly,  but  from  a 
richer  source.  Not  by  any  conscious  imitation  of 
particular  forms  are  the  grand  strokes  of  the  painter 
executed,  but  by  repairing  to  the  fountain-head  of  all 
forms  in  his  mind.  Who  is  the  first  drawing-master  ? 
Without  instruction  we  know  very  well  the  ideal  of 
the  human  form.  A  child  knows  if  an  arm  or  a  leg 
be  distorted  in  a  picture,  if  the  attitude  be  natural  or 
20 


306  ESSAY    XI. 

grand,  or  mean,  though  he  has  never  received  any  in 
struction  in  drawing,  or  heard  any  conversation  on 
the  subject,  nor  can  himself  draw  with  correctness  a 
single  feature.  A  good  form  strikes  all  eyes  pleas 
antly,  long  before  they  have  any  science  on  the  sub 
ject,  and  a  beautiful  face  sets  twenty  hearts  in  palpita 
tion,  prior  to  all  consideration  of  the  mechanical  pro 
portions  of  the  features  and  head.  We  may  owe  to 
dreams  some  light  on  the  fountain  of  this  skill ;  for, 
as  soon  as  we  let  our  will  go,  and  let  the  unconscious 
states  ensue,  see  what  cunning  draughtsmen  we  are  ! 
We  entertain  ourselves  with  wonderful  forms  of  men. 
of  women,  of  animals,  of  gardens,  of  woods,  and  of 
monsters,  and  the  mystic  pencil  wherewith  we  then 
draw  has  no  awkwardness  or  inexperience,  no  mea- 
greness  or  poverty  ;  it  can  design  well,  and  group 
well ;  its  composition  is  full  of  art,  its  colors  are  well 
laid  on,  and  the  whole  canvas  which  it  paints  is  life 
like,  and  apt  to  touch  us  with  terror,  with  tenderness, 
with  desire,  and  with  grief.  Neither  are  the  artist's 
copies  from  experience  ever  mere  copies,  but  al 
ways  touched  and  softened  by  tints  from  this  ideal 
domain. 

The  conditions  essential  to  a  constructive  mind  do 
not  appear  to  be  so  often  combined  but  that  a  good 
sentence  or  verse  remains  fresh  and  memorable  for  a 
long  time.  Yet  when  we  write  with  ease,  and  come 
out  into  the  free  air  of  thought,  we  seem  to  be  as- 


INTELLECT.  307 

sured  that  nothing  is  easier  than  to  continue  this  com 
munication  at  pleasure.  Up,  down,  around,  the  king 
dom  of  thought  has  no  inclosures,  but  the  Muse 
makes  us  free  of  her  city.  Well,  the  world  has  a 
million  writers.  One  would  think,  then,  that  good 
thought  would  be  as  familiar  as  air  and  water,  and 
the  gifts  of  each  new  hour  would  exclude  the  last. 
Yet  we  can  count  all  our  good  books  ;  nay,  I  remem 
ber  any  beautiful  verse  for  twenty  years.  It  is  true 
that  the  discerning  intellect  of  the  world  is  always 
much  in  advance  of  the  creative,  so  that  there  are 
many  competent  judges  of  the  best  book,  and  few 
writers  of  the  best  books.  But  some  of  the  condi 
tions  of  intellectual  construction  are  of  rare  occur 
rence.  The  intellect  is  a  whole,  and  demands  in 
tegrity  in  every  work.  This  is  resisted  equally  by  a 
man's  devotion  to  a  single  thought,  and  by  his  ambi 
tion  to  combine  too  many. 

Truth  is  our  element  of  life,  yet  if  a  man  fasten 
his  attention  on  a  single  aspect  of  truth,  and  apply 
himself  to  that  alone  for  a  long  time,  the  truth  be 
comes  distorted  and  not  itself,  but  falsehood  ;  herein 
resembling  the  air,  which  is  our  natural  element,  and 
the  breath  of  our  nostrils,  but  if  a  stream  of  the  same 
be  directed  on  the  body  for  a  time,  it  causes  cold, 
fever,  and  even  death.  How  wearisome  the  gram 
marian,  the  phrenologist,  the  political  or  religious  fa 
natic,  or  indeed  any  possessed  mortal  whose  balance 


308  ESSAY    XI. 

is  lost  by  the  exaggeration  of  a  single  topic.  It  is 
incipient  insanity.  Every  thought  is  a  prison  also. 
I  cannot  see  what  you  see,  because  I  am  caught  up 
by  a  strong  wind,  and  blown  so  far  in  one  direction 
that  I  am  out  of  the  hoop  of  your  horizon. 

Is  it  any  better,  if  the  student,  to  avoid  this  offence, 
and  to  liberalize  himself,  aims  to  make  a  mechanical 
whole  of  history,  or  science,  or  philosophy,  by  a 
numerical  addition  of  all  the  facts  that  fall  within  his 
vision  ?  The  world  refuses  to  be  analyzed  by  addi 
tion  and  subtraction.  When  we  are  young,  we  spend 
much  time  and  pains  in  filling  our  note-books  with 
all  definitions  of  Religion,  Love,  Poetry,  Politics, 
Art,  in  the  hope  that,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years, 
we  shall  have  condensed  into  our  encyclopaedia  the 
net  value  of  all  the  theories  at  which  the  world  has 
yet  arrived.  But  year  after  year  our  tables  get  no 
completeness,  and  at  last  we  discover  that  our  curve 
is  a  parabola,  whose  arcs  will  never  meet. 

Neither  by  detachment,  neither  by  aggregation,  is 
the  integrity  of  the  intellect  transmitted  to  its  works, 
but  by  a  vigilance  which  brings  the  intellect  in  its 
greatness  and  best  state  to  operate  every  moment. 
It  must  have  the  same  wholeness  which  nature  has. 
Although  no  diligence  can  rebuild  the  universe  in  a 
model,  by  the  best  accumulation  or  disposition  of  de 
tails,  yet  does  the  world  reappear  in  miniature  in 
every  event,  so  that  all  the  laws  of  nature  may  be 


INTELLECT.  309 

read  in  the  smallest  fact.  The  intellect  must  have 
the  like  perfection  in  its  apprehension  and  in  its 
works.  For  this  reason,  an  index  or  mercury  of 
intellectual  proficiency  is  the  perception  of  identity. 
We  talk  with  accomplished  persons  who  appear  to 
be  strangers  in  nature.  The  cloud,  the  tree,  the 
turf,  the  bird  are  not  theirs,  have  nothing  of  them : 
the  world  is  only  their  lodging  and  table.  But  the 
poet,  whose  verses  are  to  be  spheral  and  complete, 
is  one  whom  Nature  cannot  deceive,  whatsoever  face 
of  strangeness  she  may  put  on.  He  feels  a  strict 
consanguinity,  and  detects  more  likeness  than  variety 
in  all  her  changes.  We  are  stung  by  the  desire  for 
new  thought ;  but  when  \ve  receive  a  new  thought,  it 
is  only  the  old  thought  with  a  new  face,  and  though 
we  make  it  our  own,  we  instantly  crave  another  ;  we 
are  not  really  enriched.  For  the  truth  was  in  us 
before  it  was  reflected  to  us  from  natural  objects  ; 
and  the  profound  genius  will  cast  the  likeness  of  all 
creatures  into  every  product  of  his  wit. 

But  if  the  constructive  powers  are  rare,  and  it  is 
given  to  few  men  to  be  poets,  yet  every  man  is  a  re 
ceiver  of  this  descending  holy  ghost,  and  may  well 
study  the  laws  of  its  influx.  Exactly  parallel  is  the 
whole  rule  of  intellectual  duty  to  the  rule  of  moral 
duty.  A  self-denial,  no  less  austere  than  the  saint's, 
is  demanded  of  the  scholar.  He  must  worship  truth, 
and  forego  all  things  for  that,  and  choose  defeat  and 


310 


ESSAY    XI. 


pain,  so  that  his  treasure  in  thought  is  thereby  aug 
mented. 

God  offers  to  every  mind  its  choice  between  truth 
and  repose.  Take  which  you  please,  —  you  can 
never  have  both.  Between  these,  as  a  pendulum, 
man  oscillates.  He  in  whom  the  love  of  repose  pre 
dominates  will  accept  the  first  creed,  the  first  philos 
ophy,  the  first  political  party  he  meets,  — most  like 
ly  his  father's.  He  gets  rest,  commodity,  and  repu 
tation  ;  but  he  shuts  the  door  of  truth.  He  in  whom 
the  love  of  truth  predominates  will  keep  himself 
aloof  from  all  moorings,  and  afloat.  He  wrill  abstain 
from  dogmatism,  and  recognize  all  the  opposite  nega 
tions,  between  which,  as  walls,  his  being  is  swung. 
He  submits  to  the  inconvenience  of  suspense  and  im 
perfect  opinion,  but  he  is  a  candidate  for  truth,  as 
the  other  is  not,  and  respects  the  highest  law  of  his 
being. 

The  circle  of  the  green  earth  he  must  measure 
with  his  shoes,  to  find  the  man  who  can  yield  him 
truth.  He  shall  then  know  that  there  is  somewhat 
more  blessed  and  great  in  hearing  than  in  speaking. 
Happy  is  the  hearing  man  ;  unhappy  the  speaking 
man.  As  long  as  I  hear  truth,  1  am  bathed  by  a 
beautiful  element,  and  am  not  conscious  of  any  limits 
to  my  nature.  The  suggestions  are  thousandfold  that 
I  hear  and  see.  The  waters  of  the  great  deep  have 
ingress  and  egress  to  the  soul.  But  if  I  speak,  I  de- 


INTELLECT.  311 

fine,  I  confine,  and  am  less.  When  Socrates  speaks, 
Lysis  and  Menexenus  are  afflicted  by  no  shame  that 
they  do  not  speak.  They  also  are  good.  He  like 
wise  defers  to  them,  loves  them,  whilst  he  speaks. 
Because  a  true  and  natural  man  contains  and  is  the 
same  truth  which  an  eloquent  man  articulates  :  but  in 
the  eloquent  man,  because  he  can  articulate  it,  it 
seems  something  the  less  to  reside,  and  he  turns  to 
these  silent  beautiful  with  the  more  inclination  and 
respect.  The  ancient  sentence  said,  Let  us  be  silent, 
for  so  are  the  gods.  Silence  is  a  solvent  that  destroys 
personality,  and  gives  us  leave  to  be  great  and  uni 
versal.  Every  man's  progress  is  through  a  succes 
sion  of  teachers,  each  of  whom  seems  at  the  time  to 
have  a  superlative  influence,  but  it  at  last  gives  place 
to  a  new.  Frankly  let  him  accept  it  all.  Jesus 
says,  Leave  father,  mother,  house  and  lands,  and  fol 
low  me.  Who  leaves  all,  receives  more.  This  is 
as  true  intellectually  as  morally.  Each  new  mind 
we  approach  seems  to  require  an  abdication  of  all 
our  past  and  present  possessions.  A  new  doctrine 
seems,  at  first,  a  subversion  of  all  our  opinions,  tastes, 
and  manner  of  living.  Such  has  Swedenborg,  such 
has  Kant,  such  has  Coleridge,  such  has  Hegel  or  his 
interpreter  Cousin,  seemed  to  many  young  men  in  this 
country.  Take  thankfully  and  heartily  all  they  can 
give.  Exhaust  them,  wrestle  with  them,  let  them 
not  go  until  their  blessing  be  won,  and,  after  a  short 


312  ESSAY    XI. 

season,  the  dismay  will  be  overpast,  the  excess  of  in 
fluence  withdrawn,  and  they  will  be  no  longer  an 
alarming  meteor,  but  one  more  bright  star  shining  se 
renely  in  your  heaven,  and  blending  its  light  with  all 
your  day. 

But  whilst  he  gives  himself  up  unreservedly  to  that 
which  draws  him,  because  that  is  his  own,  he  is  to 
refuse  himself  to  that  which  draws  him  not,  whatso 
ever  fame  and  authority  may  attend  it,  because  it  is 
not  his  own.  Entire  self-reliance  belongs  to  the  in 
tellect.  One  soul  is  a  counterpoise  of  all  souls,  as  a 
capillary  column  of  water  is  a  balance  for  the  sea. 
It  must  treat  things,  and  books,  and  sovereign  genius, 
as  itself  also  a  sovereign.  If  ^Eschylus  be  that  man 
he  is  taken  for,  he  has  not  yet  done  his  office,  when 
he  has  educated  the  learned  of  Europe  for  a  thousand 
years.  He  is  now  to  approve  himself  a  master  of 
delight  to  me  also.  If  he  cannot  do  that,  all  his 
fame  shall  avail  him  nothing  with  me.  I  were  a  fool 
not  to  sacrifice  a  thousand  ^Eschyluses  to  my  intel 
lectual  integrity.  Especially  take  the  same  ground 
in  regard  to  abstract  truth,  the  science  of  the  mind. 
The  Bacon,  the  Spinoza,  the  Hume,  Schelling, 
Kant,  or  whosoever  propounds  to  you  a  philosophy  of 
the  mind,  is  only  a  more  or  less  awkward  translator 
of  things  in  your  consciousness,  which  you  have  also 
your  way  of  seeing,  perhaps  of  denominating.  Say, 
then,  instead  of  too  timidly  poring  into  his  obscure 


INTELLECT.  313 

sense,  that  he  has  not  succeeded  in  rendering  back  to 
you  your  consciousness.  He  has  not  succeeded  ; 
now  let  another  try.  If  Plato  cannot,  perhaps  Spi 
noza  will.  If  Spinoza  cannot,  then  perhaps  Kant. 
Anyhow,  when  at  last  it  is  done,  you  will  find  it  is 
no  recondite,  but  a  simple,  natural,  common  state, 
which  the  writer  restores  to  you. 

But  let  us  end  these  didactics.  I  will  not,  though 
the  subject  might  provoke  it,  speak  to  the  open  ques 
tion  between  Truth  and  Love.  I  shall  not  presume 
to  interfere  in  the  old  politics  of  the  skies  ;  —  "  The 
cherubim  know  most ;  the  seraphim  love  most." 
The  gods  shall  settle  their  own  quarrels.  But  I  can 
not  recite,  even  thus  rudely,  laws  of  the  intellect, 
without  remembering  that  lofty  and  sequestered  class 
of  men  who  have  been  its  prophets  and  oracles,  the 
high-priesthood  of  the  pure  reason,  the  Trismegisti, 
the  expounders  of  the  principles  of  thought  from  age 
to  age.  When,  at  long  intervals,  we  turn  over  their 
abstruse  pages,  wonderful  seems  the  calm  and  grand 
air  of  these  few,  these  great  spiritual  lords,  who  have 
walked  in  the  world,  —  these  of  the  old  religion,  — 
dwelling  in  a  worship  which  makes  the  sanctities  of 
Christianity  look  parvenues  and  popular  ;  for  C£  persua 
sion  is  in  soul,  but  necessity  is  in  intellect."  This 
band  of  grandees,  Hermes,  Heraclitus,  Empedocles, 
Plato,  Plolinus,  Olympiodorus,  Proclus,  Synesius, 
and  the  rest,  have  somewhat  so  vast  in  their  logic,  so 


314 


ESSAY   XI. 


primary  in  their  thinking,  that  it  seems  antecedent  to 
all  the  ordinary  distinctions  of  rhetoric  and  literature, 
and  to  be  at  once  poetry,  and  music,  and  dancing, 
and  astronomy,  and  mathematics.     I  am  present  at 
the  sowing  of  the  seed  of  the  world.     With  a  geom 
etry  of  sunbeams,  the  soul  lays  the  foundations  of 
nature.      The  truth  and  grandeur  of  their  thought  is 
proved  by  its  scope  and  applicability,  for  it  commands 
the  entire  schedule  and   inventory  of  things  for  its 
illustration.     But  what  marks  its  elevation,  and  has 
even  a  comic  look  to  us,  is  the  innocent  serenity  with 
which  these  babe-like  Jupiters  sit  in  their  clouds,  and 
from  age  to  age  prattle  to  each  other,  and  to  no  con 
temporary.     Well  assured  that  their  speech  is  intelli 
gible,  and  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  they 
add  thesis  to  thesis,  without  a  moment's  heed  of  the 
universal  astonishment  of  the  human  race  below,  who 
do  not  comprehend  their  plainest  argument ;  nor  do 
they  ever  relent  so  much  as  to  insert  a  popular  or  ex 
plaining  sentence  ;  nor  testify  the  least  displeasure  or 
petulance  at  the  dulness  of  their  amazed  auditory. 
The  angels  are  so  enamoured  of  the  language  that  is 
spoken  in  heaven,  that  they  will  not  distort  their  lips 
with  the  hissing  and  unmusical  dialects  of  men,  but 
speak  their  own,  whether  there  be  any  who  under 
stand  it  or  not. 


ART. 


Give  to  barrows,  trays,  and  pans 
Grace  and  glimmer  of  romance  ; 
Bring  the  moonlight  into  noon 
Hid  in  gleaming  piles  of  stone  ; 
On  the  city's  paved  street 
Plant  gardens  lined  with  lilac  sweet ; 
Let  spouting  fountains  cool  the  air, 
Singing  in  the  sun-baked  square  ; 
Let  statue,  picture,  park,  and  hall, 
Ballad,  flag,  and  festival, 
The  past  restore,  the  day  adorn, 
And  make  each  morrow  a  new  morn. 
So  shall  the  drudge  in  dusty  frock 
Spy  behind  the  city  clock 
Retinues  of  airy  kings, 
Skirts  of  angels,  starry  wings, 
His  fathers  shining  in  bright  fables, 
His  children  fed  at  heavenly  tables. 
'T  is  the  privilege  of  Art 
Thus  to  play  its  cheerful  part, 
Man  in  Earth  to  acclimate, 
And  bend  the  exile  to  his  fate, 
And,  moulded  of  one  element 
With  the  days  and  firmament, 
Teach  him  on  these  as  stairs  to  climb, 
And  live  on  even  terms  with  Time; 
Whilst  upper  life  the  slender  rill 
Of  human  sense  doth  overfill. 


ESSAY  XII. 
ART. 


BECAUSE  the  soul  is  progressive,  it  never  quite 
repeats  itself,  but  in  every  act  attempts  the  production 
of  a  new  and  fairer  whole.  This  appears  in  works 
both  of  the  useful  and  the  fine  arts,  if  we  employ 
the  popular  distinction  of  works  according  to  their 
aim  either  at  use  or  beauty.  Thus  in  our  fine  arts, 
not  imitation,  but  creation,  is  the  aim.  In  landscapes, 
the  painter  should  give  the  suggestion  of  a  fairer  cre 
ation  than  we  know.  The  details,  the  prose  of  na 
ture  he  should  omit,  and  give  us  only  the  spirit  and 
splendor.  He  should  know  that  the  landscape  has 
beauty  for  his  eye,  because  it  expresses  a  thought 
which  is  to  him  good  ;  and  this,  because  the  same 
power  which  sees  through  his  eyes  is  seen  in  that 
spectacle  ;  and  he  will  come  to  value  the  expression 
of  nature,  and  not  nature  itself,  and  so  exalt  in  his 
copy  the  features  that  please  him.  He  will  give  the 
gloom  of  gloom,  and  the  sunshine  of  sunshine.  In 


318  ESSAY    XII. 

a  portrait,  he  must  inscribe  the  character,  and  not 
the  features,  and  must  esteem  the  man  who  sits  to 
him  as  himself  only  an  imperfect  picture  or  likeness 
of  the  aspiring  original  within. 

What  is  that  abridgment  and  selection  we  observe 
in  all  spiritual  activity,  but  itself  the  creative  im 
pulse  ?  for  it  is  the  inlet  of  that  higher  illumination 
which  teaches  to  convey  a  larger  sense  by  simpler 
symbols.  What  is  a  man  but  nature's  finer  success 
in  self-explication  ?  What  is  a  man  but  a  finer  and 
compacter  landscape  than  the  horizon  figures,  —  na 
ture's  eclecticism  ?  and  what  is  his  speech,  his  love 
of  painting,  love  of  nature,  but  a  still  finer  success  ? 
all  the  weary  miles  and  tons  of  space  and  bulk  left 
out,  and  the  spirit  or  moral  of  it  contracted  into 
a  musical  word,  or  the  most  cunning  stroke  of  the 
pencil  ? 

But  the  artist  must  employ  the  symbols  in  use  in 
his  day  and  nation,  to  convey  his  enlarged  sense  to 
his  fellow-men.  Thus  the  new  in  art  is  always  form 
ed  out  of  the  old.  The  Genius  of  the  Hour  sets 
his  ineffaceable  seal  on  the  work,  and  gives  it  an  in 
expressible  charm  for  the  imagination.  As  far  as 
the  spiritual  character  of  the  period  overpowers  the 
artist,  and  finds  expression  in  his  work,  so  far  it  will 
retain  a  certain  grandeur,  and  will  represent  to  future 
beholders  the  Unknown,  the  Inevitable,  the  Divine. 
No  man  can  quite  exclude  this  element  of  Necessity 


ART.  319 

from  his  labor.  No  man  can  quite  emancipate  him 
self  from  his  age  and  country,  or  produce  a  model  in 
which  the  education,  the  religion,  the  politics,  usages, 
and  arts,  of  his  times  shall  have  no  share.  Though 
he  were  never  so  original,  never  so  wilful  and  fantas 
tic,  he  cannot  wipe  out  of  his  work  every  trace  of  the 
thoughts  amidst  which  it  grew.  The  very  avoidance 
betrays  the  usage  he  avoids.  Above  his  will,  and 
out  of  his  sight,  he  is  necessitated,  by  the  air  he 
breathes,  and  the  idea  on  which  he  and  his  contem 
poraries  live  and  toil,  to  share  the  manner  of  his 
times,  without  knowing  what  that  manner  is.  Now 
that  which  is  inevitable  in  the  work  has  a  higher  charm 
than  individual  talent  can  ever  give,  inasmuch  as  the 
artist's  pen  or  chisel  seems  to  have  been  held  and 
guided  by  a  gigantic  hand  to  inscribe  a  line  in  the 
history  of  the  human  race.  This  circumstance  gives 
a  value  to  the  Egyptian  hieroglyphics,  to  the  Indian, 
Chinese,  and  Mexican  idols,  however  gross  and  shape 
less.  They  denote  the  height  of  the  human  soul  in 
that  hour,  and  were  not  fantastic,  but  sprung  from  a 
necessity  as  deep  as  the  world.  Shall  I  now  add, 
that  the  whole  extant  product  of  the  plastic  arts  has 
herein  its  highest  value,  as  history  ;  as  a  stroke  drawn 
in  the  portrait  of  that  fate,  perfect  and  beautiful,  ac 
cording  to  whose  ordinations  all  beings  advance  to 
their  beatitude  ? 

Thus,  historically  viewed,  it  has  been  the  office 


320 


ESSAY    XII. 


of  art  to  educate  the  perception  of  beauty.     We  are 
immersed  in  beauty,  but  our  eyes  have  no  clear  vision. 
It  needs,  by  the  exhibition  of  single  traits,  to  assist 
and  lead  the  dormant  taste.     We  carve  and  paint,  or 
we  behold  what  is  carved  and  painted,  as  students  of 
the  mystery  of  Form.     The  virtue  of  art  lies  in  de 
tachment,  in  sequestering  one  object  from  the  embar 
rassing  variety.     Until  one  thing  comes  out  from  the 
connection  of  things,  there  can  be  enjoyment,  con 
templation,  but  no  thought.     Our  happiness  and  un- 
happiness  are  unproductive.      The  infant  lies  in   a 
pleasing  trance,  but  his  individual  character  and  his 
practical  power  depend  on  his  daily  progress  in  the 
separation  of  things,  and  dealing  with  one  at  a  time. 
Love  and  all  the  passions  concentrate  all  existence 
around  a  single  form.     It  is  the  habit  of  certain  minds 
to  give  an  all-excluding  fulness   to  the  object,  the 
thought,  the  word,   they  alight  upon,  and  to  jnake 
that  for  the  time  the  deputy  of  the  world.     These 
are  the  artists,  the   orators,  the  leaders  of  society. 
The  power  to  detach,  and  to  magnify  by  detaching,  is 
the  essence  of  rhetoric  in  the  hands  of  the  orator  and 
the  poet.     This  rhetoric,  or  power  to  fix  the  mo 
mentary  eminency  of  an  object,  —  so  remarkable  in 
Burke,  in  Byron,  in  Carlyle,  —  the  painter  and  sculp 
tor  exhibit  in  color  and  in  stone.     The  power  de 
pends  on  the  depth  of  the  artist's  insight  of  that  ob 
ject  he  contemplates.     For  every  object  has  its  roots 


ART.  321 

in  central  nature,  and  may  of  course  be  so  exhibited 
to  us  as  to  represent  the  world.  Therefore,  each 
work  of  genius  is  the  tyrant  of  the  hour,  and  con 
centrates  attention  on  itself.  For  the  time,  it  is  the 
only  thing  worth  naming  to  do  that,  —  be  it  a  son 
net,  an  opera,  a  landscape,  a  statue,  an  oration,  the 
plan  of  a  temple,  of  a  campaign,  or  of  a  voyage  of 
discovery.  Presently  we  pass  to  some  other  object, 
which  rounds  itself  into  a  whole,  as  did  the  first ; 
for  example,  a  well-laid  garden :  and  nothing  seems 
worth  doing  but  the  laying  out  of  gardens.  I  should 
think  fire  the  best  thing  in  the  world,  if  I  were  not 
acquainted  with  air,  and  water,  and  earth.  For  it  is 
the  right  and  property  of  all  natural  objects,  of  all 
genuine  talents,  of  all  native  properties  whatsoever, 
to  be  for  their  moment  the  top  of  the  world.  A 
squirrel  leaping  from  bough  to  bough,  and  making  the 
wood  but  one  wide  tree  for  his  pleasure,  fills  the  eye 
not  less  than  a  lion,  —  is  beautiful,  self-sufficing,  and 
stands  then  and  there  for  nature.  A  good  ballad 
draws  my  ear  and  heart  whilst  I  listen,  as  much  as 
an  epic  has  done  before.  A  dog,  drawn  by  a  mas 
ter,  or  a  litter  of  pigs,  satisfies,  and  is  a  reality  not 
less  than  the  frescoes  of  Angelo.  From  this  succes 
sion  of  excellent  objects,  we  learn  at  last  the  immen 
sity  of  the  world,  the  opulence  of  human  nature, 
which  can  run  out  to  infinitude  in  any  direction. 
But  I  also  learn  that  what  astonished  and  fascinated 
21 


322  ESSAY  XII. 

me  in  the  first  work  astonished  me  in  the  second 
work  also  ;  that  excellence  of  all  things  is  one. 

The  office  of  painting  and  sculpture  seems  to  be 
merely  initial.  The  best  pictures  can  easily  tell  us 
their  last  secret.  The  best  pictures  are  rude  draughts 
of  a  few  of  the  miraculous  dots  and  lines  and  dyes 
which  make  up  the  ever-changing  "  landscape  with 
figures  "  amidst  which  we  dwell.  Painting  seems  to 
be  to  the  eye  what  dancing  is  to  the  limbs.  When 
that  has  educated  the  frame  to  self-possession,  to 
nimbleness,  to  grace,  the  steps  of  the  dancing-master 
are  better  forgotten ;  so  painting  teaches  me  the 
splendor  of  color  and  the  expression  of  form,  and,  as 
I  see  many  pictures  and  higher  genius  in  the  art,  I 
see  the  boundless  opulence  of  the  pencil,  the  indiffer- 
ency  in  which  the  artist  stands  free  to  choose  out  of 
the  possible  forms.  If  he  can  draw  every  thing,  why 
draw  any  thing  ?  and  then  is  my  eye  opened  to  the 
eternal  picture  which  nature  paints  in  the  street  with 
moving  men  and  children,  beggars,  and  fine  ladies, 
draped  in  red,  and  green,  and  blue,  and  gray  ;  long 
haired,  grizzled,  white-faced,  black-faced,  wrinkled, 
giant,  dwarf,  expanded,  elfish,  —  capped  and  based 
by  heaven,  earth,  and  sea. 

A  gallery  of  sculpture  teaches  more  austerely  the 
same  lesson.  As  picture  teaches  the  coloring,  so 
sculpture  the  anatomy  of  form.  When  I  have  seen 
fine  statues,  and  afterwards  enter  a  public  assembly, 


ART.  323 

I  understand  well  what  he  meant  who  said,  "  When 
I  have  been  reading  Homer,  all  men  look  like  giants." 
I  too  see  that  painting  and  sculpture  are  gymnastics 
of  the  eye,  its  training  to  the  niceties  and  curiosities 
of  its  function.  There  is  no  statue  like  this  living 
man,  with  his  infinite  advantage  over  all  ideal  sculp 
ture,  of  perpetual  variety.  What  a  gallery  of  art 
have  I  here  !  No  mannerist  made  these  varied  groups 
and  diverse  original  single  figures.  Here  is  the  artist 
himself  improvising,  grim  and  glad,  at  his  block. 
Now  one  thought  strikes  him,  now  another,  and  with 
each  moment  he  alters  the  whole  air,  attitude,  and 
expression  of  his  clay.  Away  with  your  nonsense 
of  oil  and  easels,  of  marble  and  chisels  :  except  to 
open  your  eyes  to  the  masteries  of  eternal  art,  they 
are  hypocritical  rubbish. 

The  reference  of  all  production  at  last  to  an  abo 
riginal  Power  explains  the  traits  common  to  all  works 
of  the  highest  art,  —  that  they  are  universally  intel 
ligible  ;  that  they  restore  to  us  the  simplest  states  of 
mind  ;  and  are  religious.  Since  what  skill  is  therein 
shown  is  the  reappearance  of  the  original  soul,  a  jet 
of  pure  light,  it  should  produce  a  similar  impression 
to  that  made  by  natural  objects.  In  happy  hours-, 
nature  appears  to  us  one  with  art  ;.  art  perfected,  — 
the  work  of  genius.  And  the  individual,  in  whom 
simple  tastes  and  susceptibility  to  all  the  great  human 
influences  overpower  the  accidents  of  a  local  and 


324  ESSAY    XII. 

special  culture,  is  the  best  critic  of  art.  Though  we 
travel  the  world  over  to  find  the  beautiful,  we  must 
carry  it  with  us,  or  we  find  it  not.  The  best  of  beauty 
is  a  finer  charm  than  skill  in  surfaces,  in  outlines,  or 
rules  of  art  can  ever  teach,  namely,  a  radiation  from 
the  work  of  art  of  human  character,  —  a  wonderful 
expression  through  stone,  or  canvas,  or  musical  sound, 
of  the  deepest  and  simplest  attributes  of  our  nature, 
and  therefore  most  intelligible  at  last  to  those  souls 
which  have  these  attributes.  In  the  sculptures  of  the 
Greeks,  in  the  masonry  of  the  Romans,  and  in  the 
pictures  of  the  Tuscan  and  Venetian  masters,  the 
highest  charm  is  the  universal  language  they  speak. 
A  confession  of  moral  nature,  of  purity,  love,  and 
hope,  breathes  from  them  all.  That  which  we  carry 
to  them,  the  same  we  bring  back  more  fairly  illus 
trated  in  the  memory.  The  traveller  who  visits  the 
Vatican,  and  passes  from  chamber  to  chamber  through 
galleries  of  statues,  vases,  sarcophagi,  and  candela 
bra,  through  all  forms  of  beauty,  cut  in  the  richest 
materials,  is  in  danger  of  forgetting  the  simplicity  of 
the  principles  out  of  which  they  all  sprung,  and  that 
they  had  their  origin  from  thoughts  and  laws  in  his 
own  breast.  He  studies  the  technical  rules  on  these 
wonderful  remains,  but  forgets  that  these  works  were 
not  always  thus  constellated  ;  that  they  are  the  con 
tributions  of  many  ages  and  many  countries  ;  that 
each  came  out  of  the  solitary  workshop  of  one  artist. 


ART.  325 

who  toiled  perhaps  in  ignorance  of  the  existence  of 
other  sculpture,  created  his  work  without  other  mod 
el,  save  life,  household  life,  and  the  sweet  and  smart 
of  personal  relations,  of  beating  hearts,  and  meeting 
eyes,  of  poverty,  and  necessity,  and  hope,  and  fear. 
These  were  his  inspirations,  and  these  are  the  effects 
he  carries  home  to  your  heart  and  mind.  In  propor 
tion  to  his  force,  the  artist  will  find  in  his  work  an 
outlet  for  his  proper  character.  He  must  not  be  in 
any  manner  pinched  or  hindered  by  his  material,  but 
through  his  necessity  of  imparting  himself  the  ada 
mant  will  be  wax  in  his  hands,  and  will  allow  an  ade 
quate  communication  of  himself,  in  his  full  stature  and 
proportion.  He  need  not  cumber  himself  with  a 
conventional  nature  and  culture,  nor  ask  what  is  the 
mode  in  Rome  or  in  Paris,  but  that  house,  and 
weather,  and  manner  of  living  which  poverty  and  the 
fate  of  birth  have  made  at  once  so  odious  and  so 
dear,  in  the  gray,  unpainted  wood  cabin,  on  the  cor 
ner  of  a  New  Hampshire  farm,  or  in  the  log-hut  of  the 
backwoods,  or  in  the  narrow  lodging  where  he  has 
endured  the  constraints  and  seeming  of  a  city  pover 
ty,  will  serve  as  well  as  any  other  condition  as  the 
symbol  of  a  thought  which  pours  itself  indifferently 
through  all. 

I  remember,  when  in  my  younger  days  I  had  heard 
of  the  wonders  of  Italian  painting,  I  fancied  the  great 
pictures  would  be  great  strangers  ;  some  surprising 


«£2b  ESSAY  xii. 

combination  of  color  and  form  ;  a  foreign  wonder, 
barbaric  pearl  and  gold,  like  the  spontoons  and  stand 
ards  of  the  militia,  which  play  such  pranks  in  the  eyes 
and  imaginations  of  school-boys.  I  was  to  see  and 
acquire  I  knew  not  what.  When  I  came  at  last  to 
Rome,  and  saw  with  eyes  the  pictures,  I  found  that 
genius  left  to  novices  the  gay  and  fantastic  and  os 
tentatious,  and  itself  pierced  directly  to  the  simple 
and  true  ;  that  it  was  familiar  and  sincere  ;  that  it 
was  the  old,  eternal  fact  I  had  met  already  in  so  many 
forms,  —  unto  which  I  lived  ;  that  it  was  the  plain 
you  and  me  I  knew  so  well,  —  had  left  at  home  in  so 
many  conversations.  I  had  the  same  experience 
already  in  a  church  at  Naples.  There  I  saw  that 
nothing  was  changed  with  me  but  the  place,  and  said 
to  myself,  — c  Thou  foolish  child,  hast  thou  come 
out  hither,  over  four  thousand  miles  of  salt  water,  to 
find  that  which  was  perfect  to  thee  there  at  home  ?  ' 
—  that  fact  I  saw  again  in  the  Academmia  at  Naples, 
in  the  chambers  of  sculpture,  and  yet  again  when  I 
came  to  Rome,  and  to  the  paintings  of  Raphael, 
Angelo,  Sacchi,  Titian,  and  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 
"  What,  old  mole!  workest  thou  in  the  earth  so  fast? " 
It  had  travelled  by  my  side  :  that  which  I  fancied  I 
had  left  in  Boston  was  here  in  the  Vatican,  and  again 
at  Milan,  and  at  Paris,  and  made  all  travelling  ridicu 
lous  as  a  treadmill.  I  now  require  this  of  all  pictures, 
that  they  domesticate  me,  not  that  they  dazzle  me. 


ART.  327 

Pictures  must  not  be  too  picturesque.  Nothing  aston 
ishes  men  so  much  as  common-sense  and  plain  deal 
ing.  AH  great  actions  have  been  simple,  and  all 
great  pictures  are. 

The  Transfiguration,  by  Raphael,  is  an  eminent 
example  of  this  peculiar  merit.  A  cairn,  benignant 
beauty  shines  over  all  this  picture,  and  goes  directly 
to  the  heart.  It  seems  almost  to  call  you  by  name. 
The  sweet  and  sublime  face  of  Jesus  is  beyond  praise, 
yet  how  it  disappoints  all  florid  expectations  !  This 
familiar,  simple,  home-speaking  countenance  is  as  if 
one  should  meet  a  friend.  The  knowledge  of  picture- 
dealers  has  its  value,  but  listen  not  to  their  criticism 
when  your  heart  is  touched  by  genius.  It  was  not 
painted  for  them,  it  was  painted  for  you  ;  for  such  as 
had  eyes  capable  of  being  touched  by  simplicity  and 
lofty  emotions. 

Yet  when  we  have  said  all  our  fine  things  about 
the  arts,  we  must  end  with  a  frank  confession,  that 
the  arts,  as  we  know  them,  are  but  initial.  Our  best 
praise  is  given  to  what  they  aimed  and  promised,  not 
to  the  actual  result.  He  has  conceived  meanly  of 
the  resources  of  man,  who  believes  that  the  best  age 
of  production  is  past.  The  real  value  of  the  Iliad, 
or  the  Transfiguration,  is  as  signs  of  power  ;  billows 
or  ripples  they  are  of  the  stream  of  tendency  ;  to 
kens  of  the  everlasting  effort  to  produce,  which  even 
in  its  worst  estate  the  soul  betrays.  Art  has  not  yet 


328 


ESSAY   XII. 


come  to  its  maturity,  if  it  do  not  put  itself  abreast 
with  the  most  potent  influences  of  the  world,  if  it  is 
not  practical  and  moral,  if  it  do  not  stand  in  con 
nection  with  the  conscience,  if  it  do  not  make  the 
poor  and  uncultivated  feel  that  it  addresses  them  with 
a  voice  of  lofty  cheer.  There  is  higher  work  for 
Art  than  the  arts.  They  are  abortive  births  of  an 
imperfect  or  vitiated  instinct.  Art  is  the  need  to 
create  ;  but  in  its  essence,  immense  and  universal,  it 
is  impatient  of  working  with  lame  or  tied  hands,  and 
of  making  cripples  and  monsters,  such  as  all  pictures 
and  statues  are.  Nothing  less  than  the  creation  of 
man  and  nature  is  its  end.  A  man  should  find  in  it 
an  outlet  for  his  whole  energy.  He  may  paint  and 
carve  only  as  long  as  he  can  do  that.  Art  should 
exhilarate,  and  throw  down  the  walls  of  circumstance 
on  every  side,  awakening  in  the  beholder  the  same 
sense  of  universal  relation  and  power  which  the  work 
evinced  in  the  artist,  and  its  highest  effect  is  to  make 
new  artists. 

Already  History  is  old  enough  to  witness  the  old 
age  and  disappearance  of  particular  arts.  The  art  of 
sculpture  is  long  ago  perished  to  any  real  effect.  It 
was  originally  a  useful  art,  a  mode  of  writing,  a 
savage's  record  of  gratitude  or  devotion,  and  among 
a  people  possessed  of  a  wonderful  perception  of  form 
this  childish  carving  was  refined  to  the  utmost  splen 
dor  of  effect.  But  it  is  the  game  of  a  rude  and  youth- 


ART.  329 

ful  people,  and  not  the  manly  labor  of  a  wise  and 
spiritual  nation.  Under  an  oak-tree  loaded  with 
leaves  and  nuts,  under  a  sky  full  of  eternal  eyes,  I 
stand  in  a  thoroughfare  ;  but  in  the  works  of  our  plas 
tic  arts,  and  especially  of  sculpture,  creation  is  driv 
en  into  a  corner.  I  cannot  hide  from  myself  that 
there  is  a  certain  appearance  of  paltriness,  as  of  toys, 
and  the  trumpery  of  a  theatre,  in  sculpture.  Nature 
transcends  all  our  moods  of  thought,  and  its  secret 
we  do  not  yet  find.  But  the  gallery  stands  at  the 
mercy  of  our  moods,  and  there  is  a  moment  when  it 
becomes  frivolous.  I  do  not  wonder  that  Newton, 
with  an  attention  habitually  engaged  on  the  paths  of 
planets  and  suns,  should  have  wondered  what  the  Earl 
of  Pembroke  found  to  admire  in  u  stone  dolls." 
Sculpture  may  serve  to  teach  the  pupil  how  deep  is 
the  secret  of  form,  how  purely  the  spirit  can  translate 
its  meanings  into  that  eloquent  dialect.  But  the  statue 
will  look  cold  arid  false  before  that  new  activity  which 
needs  to  roll  through  all  things,  and  is  impatient  of 
counterfeits,  and  things  not  alive.  Picture  and  sculp 
ture  are  the  celebrations  and  festivities  of  form.  But 
true  art  is  never  fixed,  but  always  flowing.  The 
sweetest  music  is  not  in  the  oratorio,  but  in  the  human 
voice  when  it  speaks  from  its  instant  life  tones  of  ten 
derness,  truth,  or  courage.  The  oratorio  has  already 
lost  its  relation  to  the  morning,  to  the  sun,  and  the 
earth,  but  that  persuading  voice  is  in  tune  with  these. 


330  ESSAY    XII. 

All  works  of  art  should  not  be  detached,  but  extem 
pore  performances.  A  great  man  is  a  new  statue  in 
every  attitude  and  action.  A  beautiful  woman  is  a 
picture  which  drives  all  beholders  nobly  mad.  Life 
may  be  lyric  or  epic,  as  well  as  a  poem  or  a  ro 
mance. 

A  true  announcement  of  the  law  of  creation,  if  a 
man  were  found  worthy  to  declare  it,  would  carry  art 
up  into  the  kingdom  of  nature,  and  destroy  its  sepa 
rate  and  contrasted  existence.  The  fountains  of  in 
vention  and  beauty  in  modern  society  are  all  but  dried 
up.  A  popular  novel,  a  theatre,  or  a  ball-room 
makes  us  feel  that  we  are  all  paupers  in  the  alms- 
house  of  this  world,  without  dignity,  without  skill,  or 
industry.  Art  is  as  poor  and  low.  The  old  tragic 
Necessity,  which  lowers  on  the  brows  even  of  the 
Venuses  and  the  Cupids  of  the  antique,  and  furnishes 
the  sole  apology  for  the  intrusion  of  such  anomalous 
figures  into  nature, — namely,  that  they  were  inev 
itable  ;  that  the  artist  was  drunk  with  a  passion  for 
form  which  he  could  not  resist,  and  which  vented  it 
self  in  these  fine  extravagances,  —  no  longer  dignifies 
the  chisel  or  the  pencil.  But  the  artist  and  the  con 
noisseur  now  seek  in  art  the  exhibition  of  their  talent, 
or  an  asylum  from  the  evils  of  life.  Men  are  not 
well  pleased  with  the  figure  they  make  in  their  own 
imaginations,  and  they  flee  to  art,  and  convey  their  bet 
ter  sense  in  an  oratorio,  a  statue,  or  a  picture.  Art 


ART.  331 

makes  the  same  effort  which  a  sensual  prosperity 
makes  ;  namely,  to  detach  the  beautiful  from  the  use 
ful,  to  do  up  the  work  as  unavoidable,  and,  hating  it, 
pass  on  to  enjoyment.  These  solaces  and  compen 
sations,  this  division  of  beauty  from  use,  the  laws  of 
nature  do  not  permit.  As  soon  as  beauty  is  sought, 
not  from  religion  and  love,  but  for  pleasure,  it  de 
grades  the  seeker.  High  beauty  is  no  longer  attaina 
ble  by  him  in  canvas  or  in  stone,  in  sound,  or  in  lyri 
cal  construction ;  an  effeminate,  prudent,  sickly  beau 
ty,  which  is  not  beauty,  is  all  that  can  be  formed  ;  for 
the  hand  can  never  execute  any  thing  higher  than  the 
character  can  inspire. 

The  art  that  thus  separates  is  itself  first  separated. 
Art  must  not  be  a  superficial  talent,  but  must  begin 
farther  back  in  man.  Now  men  do  not  see  nature  to 
be  beautiful,  and  they  go  to  make  a  statue  which  shall 
be.  They  abhor  men  as  tasteless,  dull,  and  incon 
vertible,  and  console  themselves  with  color-bags,  and 
blocks  of  marble.  They  reject  life  as  prosaic,  and 
create  a  death  which  they  call  poetic.  They  despatch 
the  day's  weary  chores,  and  fly  to  voluptuous  reveries. 
They  eat  and  drink,  that  they  may  afterwards  execute 
the  ideal.  Thus  is  art  vilified  ;  the  name  conveys 
to  the  mind  its  secondary  and  bad  senses  ;  it  stands 
in  the  imagination  as  somewhat  contrary  to  nature, 
and  struck  with  death  from  the  first.  Would  it  not 
be  better  to  begin  higher  up,  —  to  serve  the  ideal  be- 


332  ESSAY   XII. 

fore  they  eat  and  drink  ;  to  serve  the  ideal  in  eating 
and  drinking,  in  drawing  the  breath,  and  in  the  func 
tions  of  life  ?  Beauty  must  come  back  to  the  useful 
arts,  and  the  distinction  between  the  fine  and  the  use 
ful  arts  be  forgotten.  If  history  were  truly  told,  if 
life  were  nobly  spent,  it  would  be  no  longer  easy  or 
possible  to  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other.  In 
nature,  all  is  useful,  all  is  beautiful.  It  is  therefore 
beautiful,  because  it  is  alive,  moving,  reproductive  ; 
it  is  therefore  useful,  because  it  is  symmetrical  and 
fair.  Beauty  will  not  come  at  the  call  of  a  legisla 
ture,  nor  will  it  repeat  in  England  or  America  its 
history  in  Greece.  It  will  come,  as  always,  unan 
nounced,  and  spring  up  between  the  feet  of  brave 
and  earnest  men.  It  is  in  vain  that  we  look  for 
genius  to  reiterate  its  miracles  in  the  old  arts ;  it  is 
its  instinct  to  find  beauty  and  holiness  in  new  and 
necessary  facts,  in  the  field  and  road-side,  in  the  shop 
and  mill.  Proceeding  from  a  religious  heart  it  will 
raise  to  a  divine  use  the  railroad,  the  insurance  office, 
the  joint-stock  company,  our  law,  our  primary  as 
semblies,  our  commerce,  the  galvanic  battery,  the 
•  electric  jar,  the  prism,  and  the  chemist's  retort,  in 
which  we  seek  now  only  an  economical  use.  Is 
not  the  selfish  and  even  cruel  aspect  which  belongs 
to  our  great  mechanical  works,  —  to  mills,  railways, 
and  machinery,  —  the  effect  of  the  mercenary  im 
pulses  which  these  works  obey  ?  When  its  errands 


ART. 


333 


are  noble  and  adequate,  a  steamboat  bridging  the  At 
lantic  between  Old  and  New  England,  and  arriving 
at  its  ports  with  the  punctuality  of  a  planet,  is  a 
step  of  man  into  harmony  with  nature.  The  boat 
at  St.  Petersburgh,  which  plies  along  the  Lena  by 
magnetism,  needs  little  to  make  it  sublime.  When 
science  is  learned  in  love,  and  its  powers  are  wield 
ed  by  love,  they  will  appear  the  supplements  and 
continuations  of  the  material  creation. 


THE    END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed ^  Renewals  only: 

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